J^iDmgu  Classics  for  (Englisb  Ecabcvs 


•    EDITED   BT 

MRS    OLIPHAXT 


T   A    S    S    0 


The  Volumes  published  of  this  Series  contain— 

DANTE, By  the  Editor. 

%    VOLTAIRE,  By  Major-General  Sir  E.  B.  Hamley,  K.C.M.G. 

-  PASCAL, By  Principal  Tulloch. 

'^^  PETRAECH, By  Henry  Reeve,  C.B. 

GOETHE,     .        .         .        .        .        .  By  A.  Hayward,  Q.C. 

MOLIERE,  ...      By  Airs  Oliphant  and  F.  Tarver,  M.A. 
MONTAIGNE,     ...       By  Rev.  W.  Lucas  Collins,  M.A. 

RABELAIS, By  Walter  Besant. 

CALDERON, By  E.  J.  Hasell. 

SAINT  SIMON,  ...     By  Clifton  W.  Collins,  M.A. 

-  CERVANTES, By  the  Editor. 

CORNEILLE  and  RACINE,      .        .        By  Henry  M.  Trollope. 

-  MADAME   DE   SEVIGNE,        ...      By  Miss  Thackeray. 

LA  FONTAINE,  and  other  )  _    „ 
French  Fabulists,  [  ^^  ^^''  ^^-  ^^^^^«  C^^^^^'^'  ^'I"^' 

SCHILLER, By  James  Sime,  M.A. 

TASSO,        . By  E.  J.  Hasell. 

In  preparation — 
ROUSSEAU, By  Henry  Grey  Graham. 


T    A    S    S    0 


BY 

E.    J.    HASELL 


WILLIAM    BLACKWOOD    AND    SOIs^S 

EDINBURGH    AND    LONDON 
MDCCCLXXXII 


All  Rights  reserved 


ADYEETISEMEXT. 


The  authorities  relied  on  for  this  vohmie  are  Tasso's 
biography  hy  Serassi,  that  by  his  personal  friend  Manso, 
and  one  better  still,  the  poet's  own  letters,  arranged 
chronologically,  in  five  volumes,  with  valuable  disserta- 
tions, by  Guasti.  The  more  recent  works  of  Cecchi  and 
Ferrazzi  have  likewise  been  consulted. 

For  the  translations-  of  Tasso's  poems  given  here  the 
author  is  responsible,  Avith  the  exception  of  some  of 
those  in  the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered,"  which,  being  taken 
from  the  reno^^Tied  version  by  Fairfax,  are  here  distin- 
guished by  (F.)  The  few  stanzas  supplied  from  Spenser 
are  acknowledged  in  their  place. 


272859 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.    LIFE EARLY    YEARS,  ....  1 


19 

28 


IL    THE    "  AMINTA, 

in.    TASSO    AT    URBINO    AND    FERRARA, 

IV.    TASSO'S    FLIGHT,  .  .  .  .  •  40 

V.    TASSO's    IMPRISONMENT,        ....  52 

VI.    TASS0!S   AFTER-WANDERINGS,  ...  67 

VIL    LAST    YEARS    AND    DEATH,  ...  83 

Vin.    THE    "JERUSALEM    DELIVERED,"  .  .  103 

IX.    THE    ADVANCE    ON    JERUSALEM SOPHRONIA 

AND    OLINDO, 113 

X.    HERMINIA    AND    ARMIDA,      ....  126 

XL    RAYMOND    OF    TOULOUSE    AND    SOLYMAN    OF 

NIC^A,  ......  139 

XII.    THE    FIRST    ASSAULT CLORINDa'S     ENTER- 
PRISE,                             1^' 


VIU  CONTENTS. 

XIII.    DEATH    OF    CLORINDA,            .             .             .             .154 
XIY.    THE    ENCHANTED     FOREST RINALDO's     RE- 
CALL,     162 

XV.    RINALDO's   RETURN CAPTURE   OF   THE    CITY,  172 

XVI.    THE    EGYPTIAN    HOST,  ....  177 

XVII.    TASSO'S    LATER    POEMS  :     "  TORRISMONDO  " 

"seven    days    OF     creation" "JERU- 
SALEM   CONQUERED,"         .             .  .  .184 
XVIII.    TASSo's   PROSE    WRITINGS,  ....  196 


T   A   S   S   0. 


CHAPTEE    I. 


LIFE — EARLY    YEARS. 


A  THOUSAND  romantic  associations  cling  round  the  very 
name  of  Torquato  Tasso.  Hie  strange  and  eventful  story, 
liis  genius,  above  all,  his  misfortunes,  encompass  his 
image  with  a  halo  of  interest  denied  to  common  men,  and 
even  to  greater  poets  than  himself ;  and  have  made  his 
woes  the  theme  of  other  bards,  and  his  form  the  central 
figure  of  dramas,  such  as  those  of  Goldoni  and  of  Goethe. 
Variously  estimated  by  his  own  contemporaries  according 
to  their  differing  powers  of  insight — a  madman  to  some, 
a  sage  to  others — they  yet  all  agree  that  he  was  good, 
they  all,  in  some  sense,  acknowledge  that  he  was  great ; 
while  to  one  of  the  best  of  them,  his  young  admirer 
Manso,  the  suffering  poet  in  his  declining  years  ap- 
peared as  the  true  philosopher,  richly  endowed  with  the 
four  cardinal  virtues,  the  blameless  victim  of  his  own 
high  sense  of  truth  and  honour.     Men  in  later  times 

F.C. — XV  L  A 


:o  TAS-50. 

have  preferred  to  dwell  on  Tasso's  brilliant  youth,  his 
high-placed  love,  and  unexampled  miseries ;  to  them  he 
is  the  typical  poet,  as  the  popular  mind  conceives  him, 
the  victim  of  a  romantic  passion,  half  crazed  and  wholly 
attractive,  with  sensibilities  too  fine  for  ordinary  life, 
and  eyes  too  rapturously  fixed  on  splendid  and  remote 
objects  to  take  prudent  heed  of  the  dangers  in  the  path 
before  him.  The  cause  of  his  misfortunes  has  been 
hotly  debated  :  learned  Italians  attacking  and  defending, 
through  innumerable  treatises,  the  proposition  that  love 
for  Leonora  of  Este,  requited  by  that  princess,  closed 
the  doors  of  the  prison-hospital  of  Santa  Anna  on  the 
ill  -  fated  Torquato  ;  while  equal  ingenuity  has  been 
shown  in  piu-suing  other  probable  causes  of  the  gloom 
which  darkened  the  great  poet's  middle  life. 

A  careful  perusal  of  contemporary  documents,  especially 
of  Tasso's  own  letters,  does  something  to  dispel  a  mystery 
which  may  receive  a  more  complete  solution  yet  in 
some  future  discovery  of  papers ;  and  if  not  all  of  the 
romance  associated  with  the  poet's  name  survives  such 
an  investigation,  a  deep  impression  is  yet  left  on  thu 
reader's  mind  of  childlike  simplicity,  and  of  a  man 
worthy  alike  of  pity  and  of  love. 

Torquato  Tasso  was  born  at  Sorrento  on  March  11, 
1544.  His  father  came  of  an  honourable  family,  citi- 
zens of  Bergamo ;  his  mother  was  a  Neapolitan  of  the 
noble  house  of  the  Eossi.  Bernardo  Tasso,  for  many 
years  in  the  service  of  the  Prince  of  Salerno,  wedded  at 
forty-five  the  beautiful  young  Portia.  Despite  the  dis- 
parity of  their  ages  and  the  evil  customs  of  their  times, 
they  were  the  happiest  and  most  united  of  couples. 
Beside  the  blue  Mediterranean  waters,  in   the   orange- 


TORQUATOS    PARENTS.  3 

scented  groves  of  Salerno  and  Sorrento,  the  loving  wife 
lived  only  for  her  husband  and  little  children;  while 
Bernardo  gladly  left  court  and  camp  for  her  sweet 
society,  and  wrote  his  poem  "  Amadis,"  with  Portia  for 
its  Oriana.  It  is  thus  that,  before  Torquato's  birth,  he 
describes  his  wedded  bliss  to  a  friend  :  "  My  wife  .  .  . 
I  love  as  the  light  of  my  eyes,  and  rejoice  supremely  in 
being  loved  by  her  as  much.  I  have  a  most  beautiful 
little  eldest  daughter  (Cornelia),  if  paternal  affection  has 
not  spoiled  my  judgment,  whose  many  flashes  of  vhtue 
and  cleverness  give  me  hopes  of  the  greatest  happiness 
in  her.  It  pleased  our  Lord  to  take  from  me,  almost  as 
he  entered  the  gates  of  this  life,  a  little  son  whom  He 
had  given  me.  Blessed  child  !  he  is  in  heaven,  and, 
knowing  the  love  I  bear  you,  he  prays  for  your  happi- 
ness and  mine."  But  ere  this  loss  was  repaired  by  the 
birth  of  the  second  famous  but  less  fortunate  Torquato, 
the  father  was  called  from  Sorrento,  "  full "  (as  he  calls 
it)  "  both  of  mental  and  corporeal  delights,"  by  Francis 
L's  invasion  of  Piedmont ;  to  repel  which,  the  Prince  of 
Salerno  led  his  followers  in  the  army  of  the  Marquis 
del  Yasto.  Diplomatic  missions  for  the  same  master 
prevented  Torquato's  father  from  seeing  much  of  his 
son's  precocious  powers  in  early  childhood,  remarkable 
as  Manso,  his  first  biographer,  afiBrms  them  to  have 
been;  and  when  the  boy  was  eight  years  old,  the 
Prince  fell  into  final  disgrace  with  his  feudal  superior 
and  cousin,  Charles  Y.,  was  outlawed  with  his  adherents, 
and  involved  Bernardo  in  his  ruin.  Unable  to  return 
to  Xaples,  where  his  goods  were  confiscated  and  himself 
proclaimed  a  traitor,  the  elder  Tasso  had  to  leave  his 
wife  to  what  proved  the  cruelty  instead  of  the  kindness 


4'  TASSO. 

of  her  own  relations ;  who,  to  avoid  paying  her  dowry, 
prevented  her  from  following  her  husband,  and  even, 
with  incredible  baseness,  tried  to  get  her  poor  little  son 
included  in  his  father's  sentence.  Bernardo,  when  he 
heard  of  his  good  Portia's  sufferings,  could  not  help  cry- 
ing out  that  her  persecutors  were  "not  brothers,  but 
mortal  enemies — not  men,  but  cruel  beasts  of  prey ;  her 
mother,  no  mother,  but,  for  her  sons'  sake,  her  daughter's 
deadly  foe ;  no  woman,  but  an  infernal  fury."  And 
when,  after  many  vain  efforts  once  more  to  see  her  face, 
he  heard  of  his  faithful  wife's  death  after  a  very  brief 
illness,  who  can  wonder  that  he  accused  her  unnatural 
relations  of  poisoning  her  1  seeing  that,  even  if  they  had 
not  done  this,  they  had  assuredly  shortened  her  innocent 
and  beautiful  life  by  their  unkindness. 

Torquato  was  twelve  years  old  when  he  lost  his  mother ; 
but  he  had  been  parted  from  her  some  eighteen  months 
sooner,  having  been  sent  to  rejoin  his  father  at  Kome — a 
parting  the  sorrows  of  which  printed  themselves  deeply  in 
his  mind,  as  we  shall  see  twenty-four  years  later.  There 
his  education — begun  at  home  under  the  good  old  priest 
Angeluzzo,  left  in  charge  by  Bernardo  of  his  family,  and 
continued  in  the  Jesuit  school  at  ISTaples,  where,  at 
eight  years  old,  the  child  studied  Latin,  rhetoric,  and 
the  rudiments  of  Greek,  and  made  his  first  communion 
— went  on  under  the  eye  of  his  father;  to  whom  the 
boy,  already  almost  a  man  in  mind,  became  very  soon 
a  stay  and  help.  Tasso's  first  extant  letter,  written 
shortly  after  his  mother's  death,  demands  the  custody  of 
his  sister  Cornelia  for  Bernardo,  and  is  expressed  with 
the  dignity  and  gravity  of  a  writer  of  twice  his  years. 
It  failed,  however,  in  its  object.      The  gud  remained 


THE    PJNALDO.  5 

with  the  Eossi,  and  was  by  them  given  in  marriage  to  a 
gentleman  named  Sersale  without  consulting  her  father ; 
but  their  choice  was  not  in  itself  a  bad  one,  and  Ber- 
nardo, assured  of  the  young  couple's  mutual  affection, 
did  not  afterwards  refuse  his  blessing  to  their  union. 

Meantime  he  had  left  Eome,  in  peril  of  a  siege ;  so- 
journed at  Urbino, — along  with  the  son  of  whose  learned 
Duke  Torquato  for  a  Avhile  pursued  his  studies; — and 
finally  taken  refuge  at  Venice,  where  he  published  his 
"Amadis,"  as  it  seems,  in  1561. 

His  son  served  his  poetic  apprenticeship  by  helping 
Bernardo  in  perfecting  this  loved  companion  of  his 
wanderings  and  solace  of  his  sadness ;  and,  undeterred 
by  the  sight  of  a  poet's  slender  gains,  and  the  small 
results  which  flowed  from  the  liberality  of  royal  and 
princely  patrons  to  an  author  who  had  actually  re- 
modelled his  work  in  compliment  to  the  King  of 
Spain,  he  engaged  before  he  was  himself  eighteen  in  the 
composition  of  an  original  poem.  The  subject  was  the 
adventures  of  the  ^jnalrln,  already  so  well  known  to  the 
Italian  public  in  the  pages  of  Boiardo  and  Ariosto ;  but 
whose  love  for,  and  wedding  with,  the  beautiful  Clarice, 
they  had  left  unsung.  His  jDroAvess  in  arms,  the  hin- 
drances and  the  final  success  of  his  affection,  are  the 
theme  of  twelve  cantos  in  the  well-knoAvn  octave  verse 
of  Tasso's  great  predecessors — one  or  two  specimens  of 
his  first  attempt  wherein  may  not  displease  the  reader. 
It  is  thus  that  Einaldo  salutes  Italy,  when  that  son  of 
Aymon  crosses  the  Alps  with  his  friend  Florindo  : — 

"  Hail !  land  by  glorious  palms  and  trophies  good 
Adorned,  and  lofty  deeds,  and  noble  hearts  ; 
Hail !  of  unconc|uered  heroes'  godlike  brood 


6  TASSO. 

Yet  fruitful  mother, — and  of  arms  and  arts  ; 
Whose  lofty  standards,  warriors  unsubdued, 
Have  faced  the  "Western  main,  the  Parthian  darts, — 
So  breaking  down  each  barrier  raised  by  foes, 
With  strong  just  laws  to  give  the  world  repose." 

— Canto  YI. 

Einaldo  seeks  glory  to  please  a  Lady  whose  "  grace  is 
such  that  it  can  gladden  every  sad  heart,"  and  his 
respectful  love  for  her  is  the  forerunner  of  Tancred's  for 
Cloriiida.  An  Italian  critic  of  our  own  day  (Cecchi) 
discerns  in  his  story  "the  scent  of  a  flower,  of  as  yet 
uncertain  colour,  beginning  to  unclose  its  petals  to  the 
morning  light ; "  and  sees  in  it,  "  along  with  a  new  feel- 
ing of  moral  order,  a  new  method  of  depicting  nature 
make  its  ap^Dcarance  "  in  a  stanza  like  this  :— r 

"  And  now  Aurora,  wakened  by  sweet  strain 
Of  wanton  birds,  came  lovely  forth  to  sight, 
With  rosy  hands  the  mantle  dark  of  grain 
Tearing,  that  wraps  the  gloomy  form  of  night, 
While  air,  earth,  water  gleesome  laughed  again, 
Rejoicing  in  her  treasures  rich  and  bright : 
And  from  her  fair  face  heaven  kept  sprinkling  round 
With  pearls,  of  morning  dew  congealed,  the  ground." 

—Canto  YIII. 

Li  many  other  respects  Torquato  wrote  under  Ariosto's 
influence ;  though,  of  course,  sounding  the  magic  horn 
less  vigorously  than  his  master.  But  his  "  Einaldo  "'  is  a 
wonderful  production  when  its  writer's  years  are  taken 
into  account,  and  was  fitly  characterised  by  the  French 
poet  Menage,  when  he  said  that  it  was  indeed  a  juvenile 
work,  but  one  which  no  boy  save  Torquato  Tasso  could 
have  written. 


INVITED    TO    FERRARA.  7 

Published  at  the  request  of  admirmg  friends  with  a 
precipitancy  in  strange  contrast  ^yith  the  long  delays 
before  the  "  Amadis  "  of  the  father,  and  the  "  Jerusalem 
Delivered "  of  the  son,  saw  the  light,  "  Einaldo  "  made 
its  young  author  famous  throughout  Italy.  Bernardo 
owned  himself  outdone  by  the  only  rival  whose  superi- 
ority he  could  view  without  sorrow;  and  Ferrara,  the 
home  of  romance  -  poetry,  bade  Torquato  occupy  Ari- 
osto's  vacated  place  within  her  walls.  Three  years  after 
his  first  appearance  as  an  author,  having  finished  his 
studies  at  Padua,  he  was  called  thither  by  the  Cardinal 
Lewis  of  Este  (to  whom  he  had  dedicated  "  Einaldo,"  and 
whose  sister  Lucretia  he  had  complimented  in  that  poem), 
and  appointed  one  of  his  gentlemen-in- waiting. 

Torquato's  age  was  now  twenty-one  years  and  seven 
months.  The  author  of  one  pleasing  poem,  he  was 
kno'wn  to  have  commenced  a  work  of  far  greater  im- 
portance ;  an  epic  on  the  story  of  the  first  Crusade.  He 
was  ready,  besides,  whenever  required,  with  sonnet,^ 
madrigal,  or  ode ;  and,  thus  equipped,  he  speedily  be- 
came the  idol  of  the  learned  and  love-making  Court  to 
which  he  had  been  introduced.  The  wedding  of  his 
patron's  brother,  Alphonso,  Duke  of  Perrara,  with  his 
second  wife,  Barbara  of  Austria,  took  place  a  month  or 
two  after  Tasso  s  arrival ;  but  well  as  this  princess  was 
loved  at  Perrara,  it  was  on  the  Didie's  sisters,  Lucretia 
and  Leonora,  that  the  courtiers'  eyes  continued  to  be 
fixed — their  beauty,  wit,  and  enlightened  patronage  of 
talent  that  made  Perrara  the  palace  of  delights  which 
for  some  years  Tasso  found  it.     In  that  city,  at  that 

1  Of  these  he  produced  more  than  a  thousand  in  the  course  of  his 
life  ;  of  the  other  two  kinds  of  poem  a  very  considerable  number. 


8  TASSO. 

moment,  the  refined  intellectual  pleasures  of  the  Ee- 
naissance  met  with  the  barbaric  splendours  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  the  result  was  magical.  Jousts  and 
courts  of  love,  grand  spectacles  and  brilliant  processions, 
were  made  beautiful  to  the  eye  by  artistic  skill,  and 
adorned  by  the  resources  of  mythology  and  the  creations 
of  poetry.  The  tales  of  chivalry,  the  romances  of  fairy- 
land, foimd  bodily  shape  when  Alphonso,  true  to  the 
traditions  of  his  house,  welcomed  his  imperial  bride,  or 
entertained  a  princely  visitor,  with  some  grand  display; 
the  material  wealth  exhibited  in  which  was  its  least 
precious  part.  Castles  offered  fronts  made  imjDregnable 
by  art-magic  for  valorous  knights  to  storm  in  search  of 
imprisoned  beauty;  the  "Temple  of  Love"  opened  its 
doors ;  the  "  Happy  Island  "  invited  the  beholder  to  its 
bewitching  glades.  On  more  ordinary  occasions  morn- 
ings spent  in  the  chase  alternated  with  others  employed 
in  learned  discussions  in  the  Academy,  to  which  ladies 
listened  with  interest,  at  tunes  entering  the  lists  them- 
selves— as  when  Tasso,  among  "fifty  amorous  conclu- 
sions "  which  on  one  occasion  he  maintained  there, 
having  placed  as  his  twenty -first  the  proposition  that 
"  Man  by  nature  loves  more  intensely  than  woman,"  the 
poetess  Orsina  Cavalletti  stepped  forward  to  controvert 
him,  and  was  held  to  have  borne  herself  well  in  the 
encounter.  Dances  and  concerts  of  music,  of  which 
last  the  Duke  was  particularly  fond,  enlivened  the  even- 
ings. And  fo  Tasso's  inexperienced  eye  that  prince 
seemed  a  model  sovereign;  for  he  was  wise  in  affairs, 
brave  in  the  field,  able  and  willing  to  assist  him  in  the 
military  details  of  his  great  poem,  and  above  all,  he 
appeared,  by  his  distmguished  notice  of  the  poet,   to 


DUKE    ALPHONSO.  9 

recognise  tlie  claims  of  genius  to  an  equality  with  the 
rulers  of  the  earth. 

Doubtless  there  were  darker  shades  in  the  jiicture ; 
but  they  were  unseen  as  yet.      Misery  lurked  in  the 
alleys    of   Ferrara   while    its   broad   streets   were    gay; 
and  the  cries  of   the   children  of   the  poor  for  bread 
might  have  been  heard  by  an  attentive  ear  amid  the 
sounds  of  trump  and  clarion;  for  while  the  Court  di- 
verted itself  the  populace  suffered  hunger.     Then,  too, 
the  Duke  could  be  stern  and  cruel.     His  chastisements 
of  offending   subjects  were   harsh;   and   he    sometimes 
smote  swiftly  and  secretly  where  the  offender  seemed 
too  powerful  to  bring  openly  to  justice.     He  was  be- 
lieved to  have  put  his  first  wife,  Lucretia  de'  Medici, 
secretly  to  death  for  her  unfaithfulness,  real  or  imagined. 
If   he   honoured   learning   by   making   ambassadors   of 
poets  and  prime  ministers  of  university  professors,  he 
yet  could  disregard  the  intercession  of  the  Muses,  and 
cast  down  their  favourites,  if  they  offended  him,  with 
a  hasty  and  unsparing  hand  from  the  heights  to  which 
he  had  raised  them.     Moreover,  while  the  arcades  and 
halls  of  the  palace  of  Ferrara  might  be  grand  and  stately, 
the  gardens  of  the  summer  retreat  at  Belriguardo    en- 
chanting as  the  scenes    depicted  by  Ariosto,  yet  amid 
the  roses  and  lilies  round  the  splashing  fountains  there 
lurked   the   dragon   of   the   envy  and  enmity  bred  in 
courts.     To  be  praised  and  admired  in  public  was  to  be 
hated  and   conspired  against   in   secret;    and   princely 
favour  was  sure  to  awaken  the  jealousy  and  dislike  of 
rival  courtiers. 

All  this  was  revealed  to  Tasso's  unsuspicious  nature 
by  slow  degrees.     But  at  first  his  happiness  must  have 


10  TASSO. 

seemed  complete, — his  surroundings  all  that  a  poet's 
fancy  could  dream.  Fair  landscape  and  noble  pageant ; 
beauty,  whether  sculptured  and  painted  before  him  in 
calm  repose,  or  living  to  bid  him  bask  in  her  smiles; 
the  learned  discourse  of  philosophers,  the  friendly  riv- 
alry of  poets  like  Guarini, — were  his ;  above  all,  his  was 
the  delight  of  reading  canto  after  canto  of  his  great 
poem,  as  it  slowly  shaped  itself  in  his  mind  amid  these 
favouring  influences,  to  the  two  women  best  fitted  to 
comprehend  it  —  whose  interest  in  it  was  an  honour, 
whose  approval  a  rich  prize — the  Duke's  sisters,  Lucretia 
and  Leonora. 

Born  of  a  French  mother,  Renee,  daughter  of  Louis 
XIL,  though  unhappily  separated  from  her  by  her 
embracing  the  Reformed  religion,  the  princesses  of  Fer- 
rara  were  distinguished  alike  by  theii-  talents  and  their 
beauty.  The  elder  sister,  though  ten  years  older  than 
Tasso,  retained  hers,  not  only  at  the  epoch  of  his  intro- 
duction to  her,  but  long  after,  if  we  may  believe  his  son- 
nets. We  are  expressly  told,  also,  that  a  sight  of  her 
personal  attractions  removed  the  young  prince  of  ITr- 
bino's  unwillingness  to  marry  a  lady  so  many  years  his 
senior.  Besides  this,  Lucretia  was  an  able  diplomatist, 
a  lover  of  music — Alphonso  took  much  pleasure  in  her 
evening  concerts — and  a  good  judge  of  poetry.  Her 
name  occurs  more  frequently  in  Tasso's  letters  than  does 
that  of  her  sister,  and  an  ingenious  Italian  ^  has  sought 
to  prove  that  she  was  the  real  object  of  the  poet's  devo- 
tion, addressed  at  first  ostensibly  to  her  namesake  Lucre- 
tia Bendidio ;  -  but  of  this,  as  of  so  many  assertions  made 

1  Giacomazzi, 

2  Tasso's  rivalry  with  the  Duke's  powerful  Minister,  Pigna,  for  this 


LEONORA    OF    ESTE.  11 

about  his  romantic  story,  tliere  is  no  proof.     Eather, 
while  "  beauty  and  talent,  loftiness  of  mind  and  intel- 
lect "  (see  Dialogue  on  ISTobility)  were  assigned  by  Tasso 
to  both  sisters  as  their  attributes,  is  there  reason  to  think 
that  it  was  the  Princess  Leonora  who  awoke  the  tenderer 
feehng  in  his  breast.     Both  ladies  emulated  the  courage 
of  their  fabled  ancestress,  Bradamante — as,  for  instance, 
by  refusing  to  quit  the  palace  when  an  earthquake  was 
shaking  it  to  its  foundations ;  both  were  wise  in  afTairs 
of   state,    for   if   Lucretia   negotiated    difficult  treaties, 
Leonora,  as  regent  during  her  brother's  absence,  "  gave 
his  subjects,"   says  Monolessi,    "  infinite   satisfaction ; " 
but  it  was  the  younger  sister  who  possessed  the  nobler 
qualities  of  mind,  the  more  ethereal  and  sphitual  beauty, 
and  the  deeper  religious  feeling.      Leonora's  refusal  to 
marry,  and  her  avoidance  of  the  noisier  diversions  of 
the  Court,  were  partly  the  result  of  her  weak  health, 
which  delayed  her  introduction  to   Tasso  by  prevent- 
ing her  from  being  present   at  her  brother's  marriage 
festivities ;  but  were  also  partly  caused  by  her  love  of 
devout  meditation  and  silent  prayer, — prayers  which  were 
believed  by  the  people  of  Ferrara  to  have  such  efficacy, 
that  on  one  occasion,  in  answer  to  them,  the  river  had 
received   command   to    stay    from    flooding    the    town. 
There  seems  little  reason  to  doubt  that  Leonora  was  the 
original  of  Tasso's  Sophronia.     Her   vestal  purity  and 
seclusion,  her  lofty  and  regal  thoughts,  her  beauty  only 

lady's  favour,  seemed  dangerous  for  him  to  Leonora  ;  by  whose  counsel 
he  appeased  his  competitor  by  the  device  of  a  commentary  on  his 
love-verses.  There  is  veiled  satire  in  Tasso's  comparison  of  Pigna  to 
Petrarch  in  this  prose  of  a  poet  on  the  poetry  of  a  prose-writer  ;  but 
his  profession  of  belief  that  Pigna  had  succeeded  in  duly  magnifying 
perfections  too  great  for  his  own  pen,  seems  to  have  been  accepted. 


12  TASSO. 

cared  for  as  the  adornment  of  the  goodness  within,  were 
gladly  recognised  by  the  Court  and  by  the  Duke-^  as 
traits  of  the  ornament  of  Ferrara  transplanted  to  the 
Holy  City ;  while  her  ripened  years,  which  must  strilce 
every  reader  as  an  unexpected  and  scarcely  needed  fea- 
ture in  the  description  of  the  virgin  martyr,  are  at  once 
accounted  for  when  we  remember  that  Leonora  was  eight 
or  nine  years  older  than  the  poet. 

This  last  chcumstance  has  perhaps  not  been  suffi- 
ciently attended  to  by  those  who  have  discussed  the 
further  question,  whether  Tasso  meant  himself  by  the 
young  Olindo,  who  loves  Sophronia  so  hopelessly  and 
so  faithfully.  His  respectful  devotion,  his  highest  and 
best  affections,  may  well  be  believed  to  have  been 
hers;  but  lower  and  earthlier  shrines  received  at  the 
same  time  much  incense  from  his  hands.  ISTo  cer- 
tainty seems  attainable;  but  a  careful  study  of  all 
the  documents  bearing  on  the  case  leads  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  living  Leonora  was  to  Tasso  what 
the  dead  Beatrice  was  to  Dante — an  inspiration,  an  en- 
nobling and  elevating  influence ;  while  to  the  high-born 
recluse  Tasso  was  an  interest  in  life,  an  adopted  brother, 
to  whom  more  of  her  heart  was  given  than  she  herself 
knew ;  who  could  not  fall  below  the  high  standard  she 
had  set  before  him  without  causing  her  pain;  whose 
affections  she  could  not  without  grief  see  given  to 
another.  We  know  that  she  accepted  with  pleasure  her 
2:)oet's  reverent  homage;  that  she  ever  allowed  him  to 
offer  her  more  than  this  there  is  no  evidence.     That 

^  It  was  to  please  the  Duke  as  well  as  himself  that  Tasso  declared 
it  his  final  intention  to  retain  the  charming  story  of  Sophronia,  de- 
spite of  adverse  critics,  as  an  episode  in  his  great  poem. 


TASSOS    HOMAGE    TO    LEONOEA.  13 

more  passionate  poems,  nominally  addressed  to  beauties 
of  the  Court,  were  really  meant  for  Leonora,  has  been 
asserted  but  cannot  be  proved.  Those  of  Tasso's  poems 
which  bear  her  name,  either  take  occasion  from  each 
varying  incident  of  sickness,  recovery,  departure,  and  so 
forth,  to  pay  her  graceful  compliments ;  or,  leaving  the 
sonnet  for  the  more  ambitious  ode,  declare,  as  in  a  cele- 
brated canzone  published  before  Tasso  had  been  two 
years  at  Ferrara,  that  his  best  songs  are  unworthy  of  her 
esteem — only  imploring  her  not  to  disdain  them,  albeit 
thousands  of  scrolls  enshrine  her  name,  and  thousands 
of  flames  are  kindled  in  her  honour  by  fame. 

"  Since  God,  whose  likeness  I  in  thee  discern, 
When  worshipped  with  love  pure  and  holy 
Disdains  not  roof  most  lowly, 
While  to  Him  mortal  torches  burn, — 
Him  for  whose  glory  shines  the  sun  eterne." 

The  name  of  Leonora,  entering  amid  her  poet's  dim 
rhymes,  is  to  gild  them  as  the  sun  does  the  clouds ;  her 
light,  if  fully  revealed,  would  be  too  dazzling,  and  there- 
fore she  must  not  take  it  amiss  if  his  feeble  colours 
depict  her  but  in  part.  And  then  follows  the  strophe 
on  which  biograjDhers  have  commented,  and  will  com- 
ment, with  varying  conclusions  : — 

"  Surely,  when  first  its  beautiful  serene 
Thy  brow  unto  these  eyes  of  mine  revealed, 
And,  all  in  arms,  I  Love  saw  walking  there, 
Had  Eeverence,  had  not  Wonder  straight  congealed 
My  breast  to  coldest  rock,  two  deaths  had  been 
This  heart's  sad  portion  in  its  dim  despair. 
Yet  e'en  that  marble  hard  could  tear 
One  shaft,  one  fire  its  coldness  warm  ; 
And,  all  too  rash,  should  one  his  breast  disarm 


14  TASSO. 

Of  that  strong  shield,  my  covering  lifted  high 
Before  thee,  lady,  humbly  kneeling, 
He,  those  sharp  arrows  feeling, 
Burned  by  that  fatal  light,  must  lie 
Where  Phaeton  by  thy  river  ^  fell  to  die." 

Yet  further  on,  in  the  same  canzone,  he  sees  that  death 

itself  would  be  a  better  life  if  it  came  from  one  whose 

eyes  might  renew  the  world  to  the  youth  of  the  phoenix, 

and  reclothe  it  with  purer  and  lovelier  forms ;  and  who 

can  make  even  her  poet's  humble  song  a  glorious  one, 

whose  verses  now  derive  their  only  honour   from   her 

who— 

"  Le  onora  col  bel  nome  santo." 

It  is  hard  to  say  how  much  of  this  was  fancy  and  how 
much  feeling.  At  all  events,  Leonora  is  the  presiding 
genius  of  Tasso's  great  poem.  He  declares  as  much  in 
the  following  sonnet  addressed  to  her,  on  his  resuming 
his  work  at  her  biddino; : — 


"o 


"  If  I,  a  painter  not  unskilled,  should  yet 
Renew  in  verse  high,  antique  memories  ; 
If  Helicon  should  ope,  and  my  emprise 
With  friendly  favouring  breezes  forward  set ; 
Then  should  the  Scythian  hear ;  thy  name  should  get 
Hearers  'mid  Libya's  sunny  sands,  while  rise 
'Mid  clash  of  arms,  'mid  Mars'  high  pageantries, 
The  lauds  of  modesty  with  beauty  met. 

Thy  praise  as  frame  right  richly  wrought  shall  be, 
That  shines  some  well-limned  picture  fair  around, 
And  draws  men's  eyes  to  it  with  rays  of  gold. 

And  fit  it  is  such  gift  to  bring  to  thee ; 
Since  'tis  thy  work  this  hand  no  more  disdains 
The  pen,  and  seeks  the  task  laid  by  of  old." 

1  The  Po. 


lucretia's  marriage.  15 

It  may  well  be  that  Tasso  thought  of  his  own  hopeless 
love  for  this  kind  and  beautiful  princess  when  he  de- 
picted Tancred's  for  Clorinda  and  Herminia's  for  Tan- 
cred ;  meantime  their  relations  were,  externally  at  least, 
those  of  the  enlightened  patroness  and  the  grateful  2oro- 
tege,  who,  after  all,  knows  that  he  has  better  things  to 
give  than  those  which  he  receives. 

When,  after  five  years  spent  principally  at  Ferrara, 
Tasso  prepared  to  attend  the  Cardinal  of  Este  into 
France,  at  the  close  of  1570,  he  drew  up  a  will,  the 
most  important  item  in  which  were  several  finished 
cantos  of  his  "Godfrey,"  as  it  was  then  called.  For 
assistance,  should  his  executor  need  any,  he  bids  him 
"have  recourse  to  the  favour  of  the  most  excellent 
Lady  Leonora,  who,  I  feel  confident,  will,  for  the  love 
of  me,  liberally  extend  it  to  him."  But  the  exclu- 
sive reference  to  Leonora  in  this  document  is  caused  by 
the  fact  that  Lucretia  was  not  then  at  Ferrara.  She 
had  been  married  in  the  previous  February  to  Tasso's 
former  fellow-student,  Francesco  Maria  della  Eovere, 
Prince  of  Tjrbino ;  and  the  poet  had  invoked  Hymen  to 
bless  their  nuptials,  and  then  turned  with  fonder  glance 
to  the  "  proudly  humble  beauty  secluded  in  her  dignified 
abode,"  adorning  that  soul  of  hers  which  was  lovelier 
even  than  its  mortal  sheU — it  might  yet  be  for  some 
truly  to  be  envied  husband.  "  Oh  felice  lo  sposo  a  cui 
t'adorni  ! "  sighs  he. 

The  other  interesting  point  in  Tasso's  will  is  its 
proof  of  dutiful  regard  to  his  father's  memory.  Ber- 
nardo's last  shelter  had  been  Mantua,  where  the  great 
house  of  Gonzaga  proved  true  friends  both  to  him- 
self and  to  his   son.      That  son  had   closed   his   eyes 


16  TASSO. 

in  a  town  of  the  Mantuan  territory — of  wliicli  the  kind 
Duke  had  made  Bernardo  governor — on  September  4, 
1569;  but  straitened  means  had  prevented  Torquato 
from  erecting  to  him  a  befitting  monument.  He  charges 
his  friend  in  his  will  to  see  to  it  after  due  payment  of 
his  debts,  and  provides  a  Latin  inscription.  Years  later 
we  find  him  bewailing  his  own  failure  so  to  honour  one 
whom  he  never  ceased  to  mourn,  and  thus  trying  to  stir 
his  powerful  friend.  Cardinal  Albano,  to  do  what  he 
had  himself  vainly  wished  to  accomplish : — 

"  Albano,  no  fair  tomb  encloses  yet 

My  father's  bones  in  marbles  rare  and  white, 
Adorned  by  prose,  and  verses  exquisite, — 
Dark  earth  still  holds  them  in  her  deep  breast  set. 
Alas  !  for  piety  which  pays  its  debt 

Honouring  loved  names^  nor  errs,  had  bid  me  write : 
'  Here  Tasso  lies,  who  sang  in  court  and  fight 
Loves  fabled  and  wars  feigned ;  let  none  forget 

How  much  he  knew  and  did,'  In  temple  high 
This  on  his  tomb  I  should  have  graved,  and  then 
The  passing  pilgrim  would  have  stopped  to  gaze. 

But  this  hard  fate  forbade.     Though  late,  ah  !  whei^ 
Shall  be  this  wish  fulfilled  ?     0  satisfy 
Me  here,  and  gain  in  heaven  my  father's  praise." 

Tasso's  stay  in  France  occupied  about  a  year.  He  en 
joyed  the  conversation  of  the  French  men  of  letters,  and 
was  presented  to  their  king  and  patron,  Charles  IX.,  with 
whom  his  biographer,  Manso,  reports  a  remarkable  con- 
versation of  his.  C.  "  Who  is  the  happiest  of  beings  ? " 
T.  «  God."  C.  "  But  who  amongst  men  ? "  T.  "  Who- 
soever is  the  most  godlike."  C.  "  Wherein  can  a  man 
be  most  godlike :  by  lording  it  over  others,  or  by  con- 
ferring benefits  upon  them  1 "     T.  "  By  virtue." 


EETUKN    FROM    FRAXCE.  17 

After  a  time  Tasso  seems  to  have  displeased  both  the 
French  Court  and  his  oa\ti  patron  by  his  frankness. 
There  was  much  temporising  for  poHtical  reasons  with 
the  Huguenots :  and  Tasso  said  in  later  years  that  he 
made  the  Cardinal,  or  at  least  his  suite,  angry  by  a 
greater  profession  of  the  Catholic  faith  than  they  thought 
at  that  time  expedient.  He  asked  and  obtained  leave 
to  return  to  Italy,  having  profited  so  little  in  purse  by 
the  esteem  professed  for  his  talents  by  the  French  Court, 
that  he  went  back  in  the  same  suit  of  clothes  in  which 
he  had  crossed  the  Alps  twelve  months  before ;  but 
he  had  closely  observed  a  new  coimtry,  and  diligently 
compared  France  and  Italy, ■'•  naturally  in  general  to  the 
adA'antaoje  of  the  latter. 

Good  news  met  him  in  Eome,  whither  he  travelled 
with  the  cardinal's  secretary,  and  where  he  was  kindly 
received  by  his  patron's  uncle,  the  Cardinal  Hippolytus 
of  Ferrara.  Duke  Alphonso  had  appointed  him  one  of 
his  OAvn  gentlemen-in-waiting,  with  befitting  salary;  and 
afterwards  graciously  dispensed  him  from  any  duties 
of  his  ofiice  which  might  interfere  with  those  studies 
from  which  the  Court  expected  so  much.  Xo  wonder 
that  Tasso's  mind  turned  gladly  to  Ferrara,  as  the  fol- 
lowing sonnet  intimates  : — 

"  That  noble  mount  where  ancient  marbles  rise, 
And  bid  us  the  Greek  artist's  work  admire, 
O  lovely  Leonore,  my  thoughts,  that  tire 
Afar  from  you,  have  set  before  mine  eyes. 
There  I'd  indite  now  prose,  now  poesies, 
On  shadowed  grass,  while  loving  thoughts  inspire. 


^  See  his  letter  to  Contrari. 
F.C. — XVI.  B 


/J 


18  TASSO. 

And  wake  my  sighs  ;  and  sing  to  Tuscan  lyre 
The  praise  of  heroes,  and  tlieir  enterprise. 

While,  at  that  strain,  the  trees  around  that  spring, 
Hippolytus,  a  glorious  name,  resouiid  : 
AVho  here  detains  my  steps  ?  ah  !  who  will  guide 

O'er  Alpine  mountains  and  o'er  deserts  wide 
My  steps  to  you,  that  I  may  write  and  sing, — 
My  hair  Avith  laurels,  that  he  planted,  bound  1 " 

He  reached  those  happy  groves  early  in  IMay.  In 
September,  the  good  Duchess  Barbara,  Avhose  influence 
had  ever  been  readily  joined  with  that  of  the  two 
princesses  for  Tasso's  advancement,  died;  and  Tasso's 
mournful  odes  bewailed  in  her  untimely  fate  "  the  sev- 
erance of  one  of  the  noblest  pairs  ever  united,  seeing 
that  what  Love  joins.  Death  divides."  His  verse  shows 
us  Italy  grieving  over  her  vanished  hopes  of  noble 
defenders  springing  from  this  child  and  sister  of  em- 
perors and  of  kings ;  the  daughter  of  a  house  which 
"subdued  two  worlds,  but  conquered  both  for  Christ 
— ready,  for  Christ's  sake,  to  give  them  up  again."  For 
this  gentle  and  lovely  lady,  says  the  poet,  "  Death 
himself,  like  some  victor  learning  the  manners  of  the 
vanquished,  put  on  a  gentle  aspect ;  and,  though  pitiless, 
clothed  himself  with  pity." 


SONXETS    ADDRESSED    TO    LUCRETIA.  29 

T\niat,  then,  must  have  been  her  gratitude  to  the  first  of 
living  poets,  when,  faithful  to  past  memories,  he  not 
only  beguiled  her  forsaken  hours  by  his  delightful  pas- 
toral, or  by  cantos  of  his  great  forthcoming  epic,  but 
produced  sonnet  after  sonnet  in  her  praise  *?  In  one  of 
these  he  tells  her  that  Love's  golden  autumn  fruit  is 
better  than  his  April  flowers.  Another,  and  one  of 
Tasso's  best,  is  the  foUo^ving : — 

"  In  years  unripe,  thou  like  the  rich  red  rose 

Didst  show, — that  to  no  breeze  will  bare  her  breast, 
Kor  to  the  sun's  warm  rays  ;  but  aye  doth  rest 
A  shamefaced  maiden,  hid  in  green  leaves  close. 
Or  rather  (for  nought  mortal  like  thee  shows) 

The  heavenly  dawn,  that  gilds  the  mountain's  crest 
And  pearls  the  fields,  might  represent  thee  best, 
"When  o'er  clear  skies  her  dewy  light  she  strows. 

Now  age  matured  from  thee  takes  nought ;  nor  thee. 
Though  careless  robed,  in  all  their  rich  array. 
Vanquish,  or  equal,  youthful  beauteous  dames. 

E'en  thus  the  flower  charms  more  when  odorouslv 
Wide  spread  its  leaves  ;  the  sun  at  high  noonday, 
Far  more  than  in  the  morning,  shines  and  flames." 

Tasso  spent  the  whole  summer  at  Lucretia's  Court, 
partly  at  Pesaro,  partly  at  Castel-Durante,  where  the 
Dukes  of  Urbino  were  wont  to  pass  the  warm  season. 
Once  more  the  Princess's  enlightened  criticisms  assisted 
in  the  progress  of  his  great  work ;  while  her  gifts — not- 
ably a  precious  ruby,  which  afterwards  helped  Tasso  in 
an  hour  of  need — showed  her  high  sense  of  his  poetic 
powers. 

Meantime  a  silence  fell  between  Leonora  and  her  poet. 
Was  it  simply  that  she  feared  malicious  whispers  ^  against 

1  Campori  says  that  the  Cardinal,  Tasso's  first  patron,  jealous  of 


30  TASSO. 

her  fair  fame,  and  so  would  not  encourage  him  to  write 
to  her  1  Had  she  awakened  his  jealousy  by  the  honour 
she  paid  to  his  rival-poet  Guarini — perhaps  partly  for 
the  sake  of  showing  that  it  was  genius  in  the  abstract 
which  won  her  regard  1  Or  did  the  homage  which  Lu- 
cretia  was  receiving  pain  her  1  A  mind  wounded  by  the 
two  first  causes,  and  somewhat  uneasy  about  the  third, 
may  be  discerned  in  Tasso's  letter  of  September  1573  to 
his  Princess ;  in  which,  about  to  return  to  Ferrara  (Lu- 
cretia  shortly  following),  he  apologises  for  not  having 
A^Titten  sooner,  and  offers,  as  his  excuse  for  waiting 
now,  a  sonnet,  "very  unlilve  those  beautiful  sonnets 
which  I  imagine  that  your  Excellence  is  now  very  often 
accustomed  to  hear  "  (from  Guarini  and  from  Pigna) ; 
"  for  it  is  as  i30or  in  art  and  in  conceits  as  is  its  writer's 
fortune  ;  nor,  in  my  j^reseiit  state,  could  anything  better 
come  from  me.  Still  I  send  it,  thinking  that,  whether 
good  or  bad,  it  will  produce  the  effect  which  I  desire. 
...  I  made  it  for  a  poor  lover,  who,  having  been  angry 
with  his  lady  for  a  while,  now,  no  longer  able  to  hold 
out,  has  to  surrender  and  to  ask  her  grace." 

The  sonnet,  as  originally  penned  by  Tasso,  is  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  Wrath,  warrior  weak,  though  champion  bold  !  who  me, 
With  arms  all  frail  and  battered,  to  that  field 
Conductest  where  Love  darts  eterne  doth  wield, 
Threatening  with  torch  celestial, — see,  ah !  see 
Thy  sword  is  shivering,  and  thy  cold  frosts  flee ; 
Love's  wings'  first  waft  has  all  thine  ice  unsealed. 
Ah !  rash  one,  sue  for  peace ;  submissive  yield 

the  poet's  admiration  for  Lucretia  Bendidio,  tried  to  keep  him  apart 
from  his  sister's  ladies  by  warning  Leonora  that  malignant  tongues 
blamed  her  familiarity  with  the  poet. 


THOUGHTS    OF    QUITTING    FERRAHA.  31 

Ere  his  hot  flame  consume,  his  shafts  on  thee 

Prove  their  immortal  temper.     Lo  !  I  cry- 
On  bended  knee  for  grace, — my  naked  breast 
Offering,  my  weak  hand  raised ;  let  pity  fight 

For  me,  and  gain  me  palms,  or  death  at  least. 
Yet  if  she  shed  for  me  one  tear,  delight 
My  wounds  would  be,  and  victory  to  die." 

This  overture — for,  in  spite  of  his  disclaimer,  we  can 
scarcely  doubt  that  Tasso  is  here  pleading  his  own  cause 
• — may  have  been  accepted  at  the  time,  and  yet  Leonora's 
confidence  in  his  devotion  not  completely  restored.  If 
Tasso  appeared  in  any  degree  out  of  favour  Avith  her, 
envious  hearts  there  were  many  ready  to  rejoice  at, 
and  evil  tongues  Avilling  to  widen,  the  breach.  For  it 
was  now  that  Tasso  began  to  be  rudely  roused  out  of  his 
careless  security — bred  of  a  generous  confidence  in  those 
fellow-men  whom  he  had  always  treated  kindly,  and  to- 
wards w^hom  he  was  himself  conscious  of  none  but  good 
intentions — by  hearing  malicious  whispers,  and  discover- 
ing plots  to  ruin  him  by  false  accusations:  or,  if  that 
could  not  be,  yet  to  destroy  his  reputation  as  an  author. 
Tasso's  first  impulse  on  such  discovery  was  to  leave  Fei'- 
rara,  and  go  and  live  at  Rome,  perhaps  under  the  pro- 
tection of  Cardinal  Albano, — a  Eergamasque  by  nation, 
and  his  father's  and  his  own  friend.  Eut  he  felt  that 
he  could  not  do  this  honourably  without  first  acquitting 
himself  of  his  obligations  to  his  patron,  by  publishing 
his  great  poem,  with  a  dedication  to  Alphonso.  Accord- 
ii^gljj  lie  left  a  tragedy,  which  he  had  begun,  unfinished, 
and  spent  the  year  1574,  and  the  first  months  of  1575, 
in  finishing  his  "Jerusalem  Delivered."  Eut  in  his 
great  desire  to  make  it  perfect,  he  determined  to  submit 


32  TASSO. 

his  poem  to  a  long  and  laborious  process  of  correction, — 
in  which,  unfortunately  for  his  own  peace  of  mind,  he 
desired  and  obtained  the  help  of  his  old  companion  at 
Padua,  Scipio  Gonzaga  (now  a  learned  ecclesiastic,  after- 
wards titular  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem,  and  finally  a  Car- 
dinal), and  a  council  of  four  other  men  of  letters,  like- 
wise resident  at  Rome  ;  among  whom,  to  our  surprise,  we 
find  the  name  of  the  hy]3ercritic  Sperone. 

AVith  these  worthies,  Tasso,  in  letters  innumerable, 
debated  all  sorts  of  points :  the  admissibility  of  certain 
words  and  phrases,  the  harmony  of  rhymes,  the  prob- 
ability or  propriety  of  some  of  his  incidents ; — yielding 
things  occasionally  from  conviction,  at  other  times  to 
keep  his  self-chosen  judges'  favour,  and  to  disarm  the 
opposition  of  the  Church ;  but  in  some  m.atters  standing 
firm  from  inward  unshaken  conviction.  His  rivals  at 
Perrara  rejoiced  to  hear  of  the  adverse  criticisms  from 
Eome,  and  were  guilty  of  the  meanness  of  opening  his 
correspondents'  letters,  and  spreading  abroad  exaggerated 
reports  of  their  unfavourable  judgments.  All  these 
sources  of  anxiety,  added  to  a  growing  fear  that  he 
might  be  refused  leave  to  publish  his  poem,  began  to 
affect  Tasso's  mind,  and  to  tell  on  his  health.  A  serious 
thoudi  short  illness  was  its  immediate  result.  Exit 
Alphonso  as  yet  remained  true  to  him,  and,  with  undi- 
minished interest  in  his  great  work,  spent  much  of  June 
1575  in  hearing  him  read  portions  of  it,  and  in  discuss- 
ing them  with  him  in  the  cool  halls  of  Belriguardo,  or 
in  evening  walks  in  its  leafy  alleys  or  by  its  fish-ponds. 
Lucretia,  too,  endeavoured  to  cheer  him.  Her  father-in- 
law,  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  had  died ;  and  soon  after  her 
husband  gave  his  childless  and  imloved  wife  leave  to 


NEGOTIATION    WITH    THE    MEDICI.  33 

return  to  her  brother's  Court,  where  she  spent  the  rest  of 
her  life.  There  she  seems  to  have  seen  the  unwisdom 
of  Tasso's  long  hesitations  over  his  poem,  and  to  have 
kindly  chidden  him  for  his  delay  in  publishing  it  (in  the 
following  spring  we  find  her  T\Titing  strongly  to  him  on 
the  subject) ;  and  now,  secluded  for  a  while  in  the  palace 
at  Ferrara,  she  bade  him  beguile  her  lonely  hours  by 
reading  to  her  such  of  its  cantos  as  she  had  not  yet 
heard.  But  Tasso  represents  himself  as  going  to  do  so 
as  unwillingly  as  Alphonso  spared  him  for  the  purpose. 
AYhether  sorrow,  born  of  hopeless  love,  tormented  him ; 
whether  growing  suspicions  of  the  hollowness  of  Court 
favour  embittered  the  cup  which  had  once  been  so 
sweet;  whether  a  taint  of  unsoundness  began  now  to 
show  itself  in  his  richly  endowed  mind, — ^vhatever  was 
the  cause,  Tasso  grew  moody  and  discontented.  In  vain 
Lucretia  warned  him  not  to  give  his  rivals  occasion  to 
traduce  him  as  fickle  and  disloyal ;  he  began  seriously 
to  entertain  the  idea  of  quitting  Alphonso's  service  for 
that  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  or  of  his  brother, 
the  Cardinal  de'  ^Medici, — unfriendly  to  liis  present  patron 
as  he  knew  they  were. 

This  plan  had  been  proposed  to  him  by  his  friend 
Scipio  Gonzaga,  and  in  pursuance  of  it  he  took  advan- 
tage of  the  Jubilee,  and  paid  that  visit  to  Eome  which 
he  afterwards  looked  back  on  as  the  fountain  of  his 
misfortunes  :  doubtless  because  it  shook  his  patron's  con- 
fidence in  him,  made  him  at  last  open  his  ears  to  his 
detractors,  and,  but  too  probably,  led  him  to  consent  to 
their  prying  into  Tasso's  papers  to  find  evidence  of  his 
unfaithfulness.  For  to  Alphonso  the  idea  of  a  change 
of  patrons  carried  with  it  the  unpardonable  affront  of  a 

F.C. — XVI.  c 


34  TASSO. 

meditated  cliange  in  the  dedication  of  that  great  work 
which  was  to  transmit  his  name  to  posterity.  He  knew 
how  Tasso's  father  Eernardo  had  revoked  the  honour 
intended  for  the  king  of  France  on  the  title-page  of  his 
"  Amadis,"  and  had  inscribed  there  instead  the  name  of 
the  King  of  Spain;  and  it  could  not  escape  him  how 
easily  a  stroke  of  Tasso's  pen  might  replace  the  "  mag- 
nanimous Alphonso  "  of  the  opening  of  the  "  Jerusalem  " 
by  a  "magnanimous  Francis"  or  "Ferdinand."  Any- 
how, it  would  seem  that  the  luckless  poet  displeased  the 
Princes  of  Este  without  gaining  the  favour  of  those  of- 
Medici ;  for  neither  the  Cardinal,  visited  at  Eome,  nor 
the  Grand  Duke  on  his  return  through  Florence,  appear 
to  have  received  him  well  enough  to  make  him  forget 
the  kindness  to  which  he  was  accustomed  at  Ferrara. 
Tasso  saw  clearly  that,  though  they  might  not  be  sorry 
to  vex  Alphonso  by  temptmg  him  away  from  him,  they 
did  not  really  appreciate  his  fine  gifts.  Had  he  known 
that  the  Grand  Duke  wrote  of  him  as  a  wit  who,  for 
anything  ho  knew,  was  a  madman,  he  would  have  more 
decidedly  rejected  his  offers:  as  it  was,  he  contented 
himself  by  looking  to  Florence  as  a  possible  resource  for 
the  future ;  and  for  the  present,  preferring  the  banks  of 
the  Po  to  those  of  the  Arno.  So  things  went  on  through 
1576  :  Gonzaga  writing  reproachful  letters  about  his 
fickleness ;  Tasso's  enemies  at  Ferrara  carrying  on  their 
cabals  against  him  with  greater  prospects  of  success ;  the 
Duke  friendly  in  manner  but  secretly  distrustful;  while 
the  revision  of  the  poem  proceeded  slowly,  and  probably 
excited  suspicions  that  its  author  was  delaying  its  publi- 
cation for  some  hidden  purpose  of  his  ovm. 

Meantime  it  is  to  be  feared  that  a  younger  and  more 


LEONORA    SANVITALE.  35 

l3eantiful  Leonora  eclii^sed  the  Princess  who  had  been 
till  now  Tasso's  guiding-star — partially  at  least, — to  his 
mmd.  The  Carnival  of  1576  at  Ferrara  was  graced  by 
the  presence  of  three  most  charming  ladies.  The  young 
Countess  of  Scandiano,  Leonora  Sanyitale,  appeared 
there  with  her  still  beautiful  step-mother,  Barbara  San- 
severino,  and  attended  by  a  lovely  girl  called  Olympia. 
All  three  were  courted  and  admked  by  wits  and  poets, 
of  whom  Tasso  was  chief.  The  young  Countess  had  the 
good  taste  to  prefer  liis  verses  to  those  of  his  rivals,  and 
thereby,  it  is  said,  gTeatly  affronted  her  elderly  admirer, 
Guarini;  and  the  other  Leonora  must  have  been  more 
than  woman  to  have  heard  unmoved  that  her  o^vn  poet 
had  told  this  youthful  goddess,  in  one  sonnet — 

"  Fairest  is  she,  by  you  the  least  surpassed  ; " 
and  in  another,  that  no  painter  could  give  any  adequate 
notion  of  her  enchanting  lips,  or  the  radiant  gold  of  her 
hair. 

Doubtless  Tasso's  enemies  did  their  best  to  widen  the 
breach  between  him  and  the  Princess.  For  a  time  they 
succeeded,  as  the  following  sonnet  (if  genuine,  as  Guasti 
believes  it  to  be),  with  its  curious  annotations,  shows. 
Its  title,  and  notes,  to  which  the  emphatic  underlinings 
refer,  are  said  by  experts  to  be  as  undoubtedly  m 
Leonora's  hand  as  its  text  is  in  Tasso's;  amid  whose 
papers  at  the  time  of  his  imprisonment  the  rejected 
peace-ofFering  must  have  been  found : — 

"A  Cruel  Doubt. 
"  To  the  Most  Illustrioits  and  Most  Excellent  Lachj^  Donna 
Leonora  of  Este. " 
"  Once  did  I  see  my  foe  with  2?ity  Jdnd  ^ 
Adorn  her  features,  gently  nourishing 


36  TASSO, 

By  hopes,  and  fair  delights  from  them  that  spring,^ 
High  flames  with  which  all  sudden  burned  my  mind.^ 

Now,  why  I  know  7iot,^  ire  and  rage  combined 
Over  her  brow  and  breast  their  armour  fling  ; 
Her  looks  perturbed  and  chary  to  me  bring 
Challenge  of  war,  in  which  I  death  must  find.^ 

All !  let  none  dare,  because  a  face  serene 

Invites,  and  shows  smooth  track  ^  for  him  to  keep, 
Love,  in  thy  realm  to  spread  his  sails.     Tis  thus 

The  cruel  sea  with  placid  breast  is  seen 
By  heedless  sailors,^  and  then  treacherous, 
Sinks  them  ^mid  rocks  and  monsters  of  the  deep."^ 


"  1  A  sign  that  he  then  deserved  it. 

"  2  Which  she  at  the  present  moment  much  repents  of. 

"  3  Like  straw,  which  quickly  burns,  and  is  as  quickly  extinguished. 

"  ■*  Does  he  dare  to  say  he  does  not  know  why  ? 

"  5  Lovers'  usual  nonsense. 

"  6  Harm  happens  to  those  who  leave  the  track  marked  out  for 
them. 

"7  Like  the  poet,  who  does  not  know  how  to  rule  himself,  and  still 
less  how  to  bridle  his  tongue  and  his  pen. 

*'  8  The  poet  is  unjust  in  attributing  to  others  what  is  entirely  his 
own  fault." 

Perhaps  these  somewhat  sharp  admonitions  produced 
amendment.  Perhaps  —  nay,  certainly — Leonora  was 
generous,  and  made  allowance,  after  the  first  bitterness 
was  past,  for  the  rovings  of  a  poet's  fancy.  She  still 
resolved  to  stand  his  friend,  and  to  do  what  in  her  lay 
to  promote  the  perfecting  of  his  great  work.  We  find 
her,  shortly  after  the  probable  date  of  this  sonnet,  telling 
Tasso  that  the  heritai^e  which  had  come  to  her  through 
her  mother's  death  would  enable  her  to  assist  him  more 
substantially  than  heretofore ;  ^  and  taking  him  in  the 

1  These  somewhat  business-like  relations  of  Tasso  with  Leonora, 
and  the  matter-of-fact  way  in  which  he  refers  in  his  letters  to  his 


COMPLETION    OF    THE    "  JERUSALEM    DELIVERED."      37 

following  July,  in  ter  train,  for  rest  to  the  villa  of 
Consandoli,  in  which  pleasant  seclusion  he  is  said  to  have 
finished  his  beautiful  episode  of  Herminia  among  the 
shepherds.  The  subjoined  sonnet  to  Leonora  may  be 
regarded  as  the  expression  of  his  repentant  gratitude ; 
though,  unless  its  "tre  lustri"  are  a  poetic  exaggeration, 
it  must  be  referred  to  a  later  date  : — 

"  Though  Love  in  youthful  face  may  show  to  me, 
O  royal  lady,  lily  set  by  rose, 
He  cannot  make  me  so  forget  the  woes 
Of  fifteen  years,  the  scrolls  writ  fruitlessly. 
This  heart  your  nobless  first  made  yours  to  be, 

"Which  yours  remained  through  lustrums,  inly  knows 
A  type  of  beauty  which  more  splendid  glows 
Than  pearl,  and  gem,  and  coral  fair  to  see. 

This  could  its  sighs  sound  forth  in  notes  so  clear. 
That  they  might  kindle  hearts  of  icy  cold 
To  warmth  unwonted,  by  its  love's  strong  flame  ; 

But,  grown  a  miser  of  its  treasures  dear — 
Your  virtues, — not  as  it  was  wont  of  old. 
It  worships  them  within,  nor  breathes  your  name." 

Meantime  Tasso  had  extracted  all  the  benefit  he  could 
from  his  well-meaning  censors,  and  come  to  the  wise 
determination  to  follow  his  own  judgment  in  essential 
points,  rather  than  theirs,  in  the  completion  of  his 
"  Jerusalem  Delivered."  "  One  master  is  enough  for  a 
man,"  he  says  in  a  confidential  letter.  "  What  ill-luck 
is  mine,  that  every  one  wishes  to  play  the  tyrant  with 
me.  Counsellors  I  do  not  refuse,  provided  they  are  con- 
tent to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  an  adviser.    ...    I 

hopes  of  assistance  and  advancement  through  her,  and  to  his  fears 
that  they  -will  remain  unrealised,  scarcely  correspond  with  the  roman- 
tic view  of  them  as  lovers. 


38       ,  TASSO, 

am  resolved  to  be  free,  not  only  in  my  judgments,  but 
also  in  my  ^viitings  and  my  actions."  Still  there  were 
signs  that  the  poet's  mind  had  not  passed  unclouded 
through  its  prolonged  anxieties.  We  find  him  in  March 
1576  asking  for  the  post  of  historiographer  to  the  house 
of  Este,  vacant  through  the  death  of  his  rival  Pigna,  in 
order  to  get  a  good  pretext,  by  its  being  refused  him,  for 
leaving  Ferrara ;  then,  having  unexpectedly  obtained  it, 
while  making  occasional  and  spasmodic  efforts  to  dis- 
charge its  duties,  reconciled  by  the  Duke's  kindness  and 
the  renewed  friendliness  of  the  Princesses  to  his  position  ; 
writing,  in  April,  in  the  highest  spirits,  of  his  augmented 
library  and  the  rich  furniture  of  his  summer  chamber,  of 
the  honours  he  is  receiving  and  the  dignified  bearing  he 
is  able  to  maintain,  of  the  great  promises  made  to  him, 
and  of  the  great  benefits  which  three  astrologers  concur 
in  saying  will  come  to  him  through  women.  Six  weeks 
later  his  mood  changes,  and  he  observes  in  a  disap- 
pointed tone,  "  The  predictions  of  the  Lady  Leonora  as 
yet  produce  no  effect  whatever,  nor  do  I  think  that  any 
will  soon  be  produced  by  them."  But,  ever  generous, 
we  find  him  willing  to  employ  his  Court  favour  even  for 
the  benefit  of  his  harsh  critic  Sperone ;  though,  for  some 
reason,  he  found  negotiating  in  his  behalf  with  his  two 
patronesses  a  matter  to  tax  his  "utmost  dexterity." 

Meantime  Tasso's  mind  was  being  further  shaken 
by  discovering  the  cabal  against  him,  and  passiug 
from  over-confidence  to  perhaps  an  excess  of  distrust. 
He  found  out  that,  while  he  had  been  spending  Easter 
at  Modena,  a  false  friend,  whom  he  likens  to  the 
treacherous  Erunello  of  the  "  Orlando  Eurioso,"  had 
tampered  with  his  locks  and  examined  his  papers.     Py 


ATTEMPT    TO    ASSASSINATE    TASSO.  39 

degrees  he  discovered  that  Monteeatino,  the  Duke's  new 
prune  minister,  was  at  the  head  of  a  plot  against  him,  in 
which  many  whom  he  had  trusted  joined.  Meeting  one 
of  them  (his  former  friend  ]\Iaddal6,  as  Serassi  thinks) 
in  the  court  of  the  palace  in  September,  and  taxing  him 
with  a  recently  discovered  breach  of  faith,  the  man — 
strong,  it  is  to  be  feared,  in  the  expectation  of  the  Duke's 
support — insolently  gave  him  the  lie,  and  Tasso  replied 
by  a  blow.  The  coward  went  aAvay  without  showing 
any  resentment;  but  retm^ned  with  his  brothers  and 
struck  Tasso,  though  without  injuring  him,  in  the  back. 
Tasso  tm^ned  boldly  on  his  assailants ;  who  fled  without 
striking  another  blow,  and  were  obliged  to  leave  Ferrara, 
having  committed  a  great  offence  by  brawling  within 
the  ducal  precincts. 

But  the  sinister  feature  of  the  case  was  tliis,  that 
Maddal5  himself  took  refuge  with  the  Duke's  own  ambas- 
sador at  Florence ;  and  that  Alphonso,  whatever  might  be 
his  professions  and  assm'ances  to  Tasso,  never  had  him 
dislodged  and  brought  to  justice.  The  affair  made  it 
only  too  evident  that  the  Duke's  ministers  were  now 
Tasso's  enemies,  and  their  master  his  lukewarm  friend. 
The  discovery  of  his  correspondence  with  the  hated 
Medici  was  beginning  to  have  its  effect.  Possibly,  too, 
those  who  were  poisoning  Alphonso's  mind  had  shown 
him  wanton  love-verses  found  among  Tasso's  papers,  and 
made  him  believe  (as  Eosini  does)  that  Leonora  was  their 
object — an  affront  impossible  for  a  Prmce  to  forgive. 


40 


CHAPTEE     lY. 


TASSO'S    FLIGHT. 


The  year  1576  closed  with  a  grievous  annoyance  to 
Tasso — the  printing  without  his  leave  of  an  imperfect 
copy  of  his  great  poem;  to  stay  the  publication  of  which, 
the  Duke  wrote  on  his  behalf  to  the  various  sovereigns 
and  states  of  Italy.  Grateful  for  this  benefit,  we  find 
him  renouncing  all  further  designs  to  c[uit  Alphonso's 
service,  in  a  letter  from  Modena,  where  he  had  spent 
Christmas ;  and  telling  Scipio  Gonzaga  that  his  obliga- 
tions to  the  Duke  were  such  as  life  itself  could  not 
repay,  adding  in  another  letter  the  remarkable  words, 
"  I  not  only  ought  not  to,  but  could  not,  do  otherwise ; 
but  there  are  things  which  one  cannot  write."  At 
Modena,  too,  Tasso  seems  to  have  received  an  ode  in 
his  own  praise,  from  Horace,  nejDhew  of  the  great 
Ariosto,  depreciating  his  famous  uncle  and  all  other 
poets  in  comparison  with  the  author  of  the  "  Jerusalem 
Delivered."  These  compliments  were  insincere,  as  well 
as  excessive,  for  Horace  had  joined  the  band  of  Tasso's 
adverse  critics.  The  poet's  letter  of  thanks  for  the 
praise,  of  reproof  for  the  exaggeration,  is  both  witty  and 
dignified.     "  Who  are  you,"  he  says,  in  playf id  remon- 


LETTER    TO    HORACE    ARIOSTO.  41 

strance,  "to  sit  in  such  a  judgment?  to  pronounce  sen- 
tence of  exile  1  to  banish  indifferently  all  other  writers  ? 
Do  you  not  perceive  that  you  offend  me  along  with  the 
rest  1  If  you  wish  to  make  me  first,  there  needs  must 
be  some  one  to  be  second ;  but  if  you  banish  all,  among 
whom  am  I  to  enjoy  the  primacy  ?  ...  If  you  offer  to 
crown  me  as  one  of  a  number  of  not  ignoble  poets,  I 
accept ;  but  if,  destroying  aU  the  others,  you  reserve  one 
only  crown  as  the  reward  of  the  most  excellent  and 
sovereign,  this,  even  if  you  offer  it  to  me,  I  refuse.  For 
it,  by  the  judgment  of  the  learned,  of  the  world,  and  of 
myself,  has  already  been  placed  on  your  own  poet's 
head,  from  whom  it  would  be  more  difficult  to  snatch  it 
than  to  ^vrest  his  mace  from  Hercules.  Would  you 
dare  to  stretch  forth  your  hand  against  those  venerable 
locks,  and  be  not  only  a  rash  judge,  but  an  unnatural 
nephew  1 "  He  goes  on,  in  a  passage  of  real  eloquence, 
to  own  that, — a  Themistocles  kept  wakeful  by  the  tro- 
phies of  a  Jkliltiades, — the  garlands  of  the  Ferrarese 
Homer  had  cost  him  many  vigils ;  but  not  from  a  wish 
to  pluck  from  them  a  single  flower  or  leaf,  but  from  the 
(maybe  excessive)  desire  to  gain  others,  if  not  equal 
yet  similar, — such  at  least  whose  green  might  defy  the 
frosts  of  death.  "  This  has  been  the  object  of  my  long 
night-watches ;  its  achievement  will  be  their  reward  :  if 
it  fails,  my  consolation  must  be  the  example  of  many 
famous  men,  who  thought  it  no  shame  to  fall  in  a  great 
enterprise." 

Would  that  in  aU  Tasso's  letters  there  rang  the  same 
clear  manly  tones !  But,  from  this  date  onwards,  they 
contain  indications  of  a  mind  unsettled  by  suspicions 
of  others,  and  made  morbid  by  seK-distrust.      Forged 


( 


42  TASSO. 

letters  disturlo  his  confidence  in  his  oldest  and  most 
trusted  friends ;  he  has  no  servant  on  whose  fidelity 
he  can  rely.  He  believes  that  Giraldini  (before  referred 
to  as  Brunello)  has  denounced  him  to  the  Inquisition, 
and  remembers  with  nervous  fear  religious  doubts 
which  he  had  expressed  in  familiar  conversation. 
He  fears  poison  ;  his  reason,  though  not  overthrown, 
still  totters  sufficiently  to  give  colour  to  the  idea,  now 
rapidly  gaining  ground,  that  he  is  mad.  At  last,  June 
17,  he  draws  his  knife  in  the  Duchess  Lucretia's  own 
apartment,  and  attacks  a  servant  who,  he  suspects,  has 
been  hired  to  poison  him.  For  this  ofi'ence  he  is  con- 
fined in  a  room  in  the  palace  court;  and  the  Grand 
Duke  of  Tuscany 's  ambassador  writes  his  master  word 
that  this  has  been  done  rather  to  cure  than  to  punish, 
and  that  all  pity  so  worthy  and  good  a  gentleman  for 
having  his  brain  vexed  and  disordered  by  such  strange 
vapours. 

Alphonso,  still  apparently  meaning  kindly,  released 
him  after  a  short  detention,  and  took  him  once  more  to 
Belriguardo.  But  into  its  delightful  gardens,  fears  (how 
well  grounded  it  is  now  impossible  to  say)  pursued  the 
unhappy  Tasso.  His  dread  of  a  prosecution  for  heresy 
drove  him  back  to  Ferrara ;  where,  insisting  that  an 
acquittal  Avhich  the  Duke  had  previously  contrived  for 
him  before  the  Inquisitor  of  Ferrara  was  invalid,  he 
betook  himself  to  the  Franciscan  convent,  and  petitioned 
the  cardinals  of  the  Inquisition  to  cite  him  to  Home,  and 
try  his  cause  fully  there.  His  acts  and  letters  at  this 
time  betray  high  nervous  excitement.  One  moment 
he  dreams  of  becoming  ^  Franciscan  monk ;  another  he 
imagines  that  men  refuse  to  go  into  his  case  and  estab- 


TASSO'S    FLIGHT    TO    SOERENTO.  43 

lish  his  innocence,  for  fear  of  displeasing  the  Duke  by- 
disclosing  the  base  conduct  of  some  of  his  servants.  But 
these  fluctuations  of  a  troubled  mind  did  not  last  lonfj. 
Towards  the  end  of  July  1577,  Tasso  fled  from  Ferrara. 

The  instinct  which  makes  sorrowful  manhood  turn 
towards  the  lost  paradise  of  childhood,  directed  Tasso's 
steps  to  Xaples.  iSTot  far  from  that  city,  at  Sorrento, 
lived  his  now  widowed  sister — not  seen  by  him  for  so 
many  years — Cornelia  Sersale.  To  her  he  made  his  way 
on  foot,  through  the  Abruzzi,  changing  clothes  for  fear 
of  detection — on  account  of  the  old  outlawry  of  his 
father  and  himself — with  a  shepherd,  in  whose  cot  he 
had  passed  the  night.  And  when,  in  his  sheepskin  garb, 
the  weary  and  haggard  traveller  met  once  more  by  the 
blue  Mediterranean  waters,  under  those  orange-trees  where 
they  had  played  as  children,  with  his  sister,  it  would 
have  been  strange  indeed  had  Cornelia  recognised  him 
at  first  sight.  She  was  alone,  as  it  happened,  when  the 
stranger  introduced  himself  as  the  bearer  of  letters  from 
her  brother.  These  letters,  a  cruel  trial  of  affection, 
imported  that  Torquato  was  in  great  danger  and  in 
urgent  need  of  her  help ;  and  the  messenger's  own  lips 
added  harrowing  details.  Cornelia  fainted;  and  then 
Tasso,  satisfied  at  last,  made  himself  known  to  her.  His 
sister  received  him  kindly,  and  in  her  company  and 
that  of  her  giant  daughters  (as  he  playfully  calls  his  tall 
young  nieces)  and  her  two  sons — whom  he  afterwards 
with  mistaken  kindness  strove  hard  to  commend  to  the 
service  of  various  princes — he  spent  a  few  halcyon 
clays. 

But  the  storm-tossed  sailor  soon  wearied  of  the  quiet 
port.     To  let  his  enemies  deprive  him  of  his  adored 


44  TASSO. 

Duke's  favour  without  striking  a  blow  to  regain  it, 
seemed  to  his  fevered  mind  intolerable.  Before  many- 
weeks  had  passed,  he  was  writing  letters  imploring  the 
restoration  of  his  "  most  serene  "  patron's  favour  :  after 
two  or  three  months,  despite  of  the  silence  of  Alphonso 
and  Lucretia,  and  Leonora's  guarded  and  not  very  hope- 
ful answer,^  he  was  at  Eome  on  his  way  back  to  Ferrara. 
His  Eoman  friends  advised  him  not  to  return,  and  made 
efforts  to  recover  for  him  his  papers  left  in  the  Duke's 
hands.  Alphonso  promised  to  restore  them,  but  did  not 
do  so  ;  and  his  agents  at  Eome  encouraged  Tasso  to  com- 
plete his  journey.  Their  master  wrote  like  one  tired  of 
the  poet's  groundless  suspicions,  yet  willing  to  give  him 
one  more  trial.  Conscious  that  he  had  never  himself 
sought  his  life  (easy  to  take,  as  he  coolly  remarks,  had 
he  had  that  fancy),  he  had  learned  to  regard  all  Tasso's 
other  suspicions  as  equally  ill-grounded  with  this  one. 
But  he  hoped  that  medical  treatment  might  cure  him ; 
otherwise  he  would  have  once  more  to  leave  Ferrara, 
and  this  time  not  to  return.  Cold  as  was  this  encour- 
agement, yet  urged  by  the  romantic  fancy  that  a  proof 
of  unlimited  confidence  was  needed  to  make  up  for  his 
previous  distrust,  Tasso  (even  thus  imperfectly  re- 
assured) resolved  to  put  his  life,  as  he  says,  uncondi- 
tionally into  his  Prince's  hands  —  towards  whom  he 
declares  that  he  "  felt  a  stronger  affection  than  he  ever 
felt  for  woman,  confiding  m  him,  at  this  critical  moment, 
with  a  confidence  due  to  God  only,  obeying  him  with 
an  implicit  devotion  parallel  to  that  of  Abraham,  and 
dreaming  that  neither  death  nor  fate  could  hiu't  him,  if 
only  under  his  protection." 

1  Lettere  di  T.  Tasso  (Guasti),  vol.  i.  p.  275. 


HIS    RETUEN    TO    FERRAEA.  45 

He  came  to  Ferrara  accordingly,  under  the  care  of 
Gualengo,  Alphonso's  ambassador  at  Kome;  who  is  by 
some  accused  of  having,  at  his  master's  command,  lured 
him  back  by  false  promises, — scarcely  needful  to  one 
so  ready  to  believe  his  own  hopes.  And,  at  first,  those 
hopes  were  realised.  Tasso  was  well  received  by  the 
Duke  and  his  sisters,  and,  according  to  his  own  account, 
treated  even  with  an  excess  of  honour ;  ^  his  enemies 
seemed  to  fall  before  him,  and  Alphonso  to  know  his 
true  worth  at  last.  Then  came  a  sad  change.  The 
Duke  (possibly  from  kind  motives)  wished  him  to  for- 
sake his  studies  and  give  himself  up  to  enjoyment, — 
a  degradation  resisted  by  Tasso,  as  he  tells  us,  with 
the  memorable  words  that  "  sooner  would  he  prefer  to 
be  servant  to  some  prince  who  was  his  patron's  enemy 
than  consent  to  such  an  indignity."  Alphonso,  too, 
perchance  despairing,  in  its  author's  present  mood,  of  the 
publication  of  the  "  Jerusalem,"  seems  to  have  committed 
its  manuscript  to  other  hands.  Tasso's  remonstrances 
and  reproaches  appear  to  have  closed  against  him  the 
apartments  of  the  Princesses  and  the  Duke's  audience- 
chamber.  "At  last,"  such  is  his  own  account,  "my 
infinite  patience  was  conquered ;  and,  leaving  behind  me 
my  books  and  writings,  after  a  thirteen  years'  service, 
persevered  in  with  an  unhappy  constancy,  I  went  forth 
an  exile  to  Mantua." 

Here  no  one  was  kind  to  him  but  the  young  Prince, 
so  he  went  on  to  Padua  and  to  Yenice ;  from  which  last 
place  the  Tuscan  ambassador  reported  his  case  to  his 
master  as  one  of  a  person  unquiet  in  mind,  who,  though 
not  to  be  called  sane,  showed  more  marks  of  affliction 
1  See  his  letter  to  the.  Duke  of  Urbino,  loc.  cit. 


46  TASSO. 

than  of  madness,  and  who  would  be  thankful  to  live  and 
write  at  Florence  under  the  grand  ducal  protection.  The 
reply  to  this  request  was,  that  Francis  did  not  wish  for 
a  lunatic  at  his  Court. 

But  almost  before  the  Grand  Duke's  message  could 
reach  Venice,  Tasso  had  left  that  city  for  Pesaro,  where 
he  employed  himself  in  composing  a  long  justification 
of  his  conduct,  addressed  to  his  former  friend,  the  Duke 
of  Urbino,  and  afterwards  extensively  circulated  through- 
out Italy — of  a  surety,  to  Alphonso's  displeasure;  who, 
most  likely,  began  now  to  think  Tasso  a  dangerous 
person  to  be  left  at  large,  and  to  devise  means  for 
getting  him  again  into  his  power. 

A  benevolent  despot  may  easily  be  turned  into  a 
malevolent  one,  when  one  whom  he  thinks  he  has  be- 
friended announces  publicly,  in  language  forcible  as  that 
of  an  ancient  oration,  that  the  contest  between  himself 
and  his  patron  is  in  truth  the  old  one  "  between 
right  and  wrong,  justice  and  violence,  humanity  and 
imj)iety."  Nor  could  the  little  Court  of  Ferrara  feel 
easy  when  its  late  brightest  ornament  bewailed  in  far- 
reaching  tones  of  eloquent  pathos  his  miserable  condi- 
tion, "  despoiled  of  fortune  and  country,  a  wanderer  in 
peril  and  privation,  betrayed  by  friends,  abandoned  by 
patrons,  tormented  by  painful  memories  of  the  past, 
present  troubles,  and  fears  of  the  future;  miserable, 
because  my  goodwill  has  been  met  by  hatred,  my  sin- 
cerity by  fraud,  and  my  generosity  by  baseness;  most 
miserable  in  this,  that  I  am  hated  because  I  have  been 
injured,  yet  cannot  even  gain  goodwill  by  loving  those 
who  have  wronged  me ;  that  when  I  can  pardon  deeds, 
otliers  cannot  even  pardon  my  words ;  and  that,  thougli 


HIS    DESOLATE    CONDITION    AT    URBINO.  47 

I  can  forget,  the  injuries  I  have  received,  others  cannot 
even  forget  those  which  they  have  inflicted  on  me." 

But  prose  was  a  defective  vehicle,  after  all,  for  Tasso's 
sensations  in  this  day  of  his  uttermost  desolation.  The 
tears  which  had  responded  scantily  to  the  call  of  duty 
over  noble  or  imperial  biers,  flowed  freely  now  over 
the  poet's  own  sad  fate ;  and  one  of  the  most  touching 
of  his  .odes,  in  which  he  seems  to  call  his  long-buried 
parents  to  console  their  afflicted  son,  is  the  result, — an 
ode  made  the  more  touching  by  the  fact  that  its  writer's 
grief  did  not  suffer  him  to  complete  it. 

"Ode  at  Urbixo. 


"  Child  of  great  Apermine  ! 
River,^  if  small  yet  far  renowned, 
More  glorious,  than  by  waters,  through  thy  name, — 
I  these  thy  banks  benign 
A  flying  pilgrim  seek  :  their  courteous  fame 
Make  good  ;  let  rest  and  safety  here  be  found. 
And  may  that  Oak  ^  which  thou  dost  bathe,  whose  frame. 
Fed  well  by  thy  sweet  waters,  stretches  wide 
Its  branches,  seas  and  mountains  shadowing, 

O'er  me  its  safe  shade  flin»  ! 
Thou  sacred  shade,  which  hast  to  none  denied 
'Xeath  thy  cool  leaves  a  hospitable  seat, 

Now  'mid  thy  tliickest  boughs  receive  and  fold  me  ; 
Lest  that  blind,  cruel  goddess  should  behold  me, 
Who  spies  me  out,  though  blind,  in  each  retreat, 
Albeit  I  crouch  to  hide  in  mount  or  vale, 
And  lit  by  moonbeams  pale, 
At  midnight  ply  on  lonely  track  my  feet ; 


1  The  Metaunis. 

-  The  crest  (Robur)  of  the  Delle  Roveri,  dukes  of  Urbino. 


48  TASSO. 

Yet  with  sure  aim  her  darts  still  wound,  and  show 
Her  eyes  as  arrows  keen  to  work  my  woe. 

2. 

Ah  me  !  from  that  first  day, 
That  I  drew  breath,  and  opened  first 
Mine  eyes  to  this,  to  me  still  troubled  light, 
I  was  the  mark,  the  play 
Of  evil,  lawless  Fate  ;  whose  hand  accursed 
Gave  wounds  that  longer  years  have  scarce  set  right. 
This  knows  that  glorious  Siren  bright,^ 
Beside  whose  tomb  me  the  soft  cradle  pressed: 
Ah  !  would  that  at  that  first  envenomed  wound 
I  there  a  grave  had  found  i 
Me  cruel  Fortune  from  my  mother's  breast 
Tore,  yet  a  child ;  ah  !  those  fond  kisses 

Bathed  by  the  tears  that  sheds  her  anguish, 
I  here,  with  sighs  remembering,  languish, 
And  her  warm  prayers — prayers  that  the  wind  dismisses : 
For  not  again  might  I  lay  face  to  face. 
Clasped  in  that  close  embrace 
By  arms  the  treasury  of  my  infant  blisses  : 

Thenceforth,  like  Trojan  boy,^  or  Volfecian  maid,^ 
My  weak  steps  followed  where  my  father  strayed. 


I  'mid  those  wanderings  grew. 
In  exile  bitter  and  liard  poverty. 
And  sense  untimely  of  my  sorrows  gained  ; 

For  ripeness,  ere  'twas  due. 
Mischance  and  suffering  brought  to  me. 
Sad  wisdom  learning  while  my  heart  was  pained. 
My  sire's  weak  age  despoiled,  his  wrongs  sustained. 

Must  I  narrate  ?     Does  not  my  proper  woe 
Make  me  so  rich,  that  no  more  store  1  need 
Whereon  my  grief  to  feed  ? 

Parthenope.  "  Ascanius.  ='  Camilla. 


STAY    AT    TURIN.  49 

Whose  case,  save  mine,  should  bid  my  tears  to  flow  ? 

My  sighs  are  all  too  few  for  my  desire  : 
Nor  can  my  tears,  though  in  abundance  given, 
Equal  my  pain.    Thou,  who  dost  view  from  heaven, — 
Father,  good  father,  unto  God  now  nigher — 
I  wept  thee  sick  and  dead,  this  know'st  thou  well, — 

With  groans  my  hot  tears  fell 
Thy  bed,  thy  tomb  upon  ;  but  now,  raised  higher 
To  endless  joys,  I  honour  thee,  not  mourn  ; 
My  whole  grief  pouring  on  my  state  forlorn." 

{The  rest  is  wanting.) 

Perhaps  Tasso's  hasty  departure  for  Piedmont  inter- 
rupted this  sad  canticle.  He  evidently  received  no  en- 
couragement to  remain  at  Pesaro;  and  he  thought  he 
would  be  safer  under  the  protection  of  the  House  of 
Savoy.  On  his  way  to  Turin  in  the  vintage  season,  he 
was  kindly  received  by  a  country  gentleman;  whose 
son,  returning  from  the  chase,  invited  him  to  take  a 
night's  lodging  in  his  father's  house,  rather  than  try  to 
ford  a  river  swollen  by  the  September  rains.  The  whole 
scene  stands  out  clear  and  peaceful  as  the  introduction 
to  Tasso's  dialogue,  "  The  Father  of  a  Family." 

Less  kind  was  his  reception  at  the  gates  of  Turin  ;  at 
w^hich,  for  want  of  a  clean  bill  of  health,  he  was  at  first 
refused  admittance,  which,  however,  a  chance -coming 
friend  obtained  for  the  meanly  dressed  stranger.  Once 
inside  the  city,  the  Marquis  Philip  of  Este  lodged  him 
in  his  own  house,  where  he  was  happy  for  a  while  ; 
and,  with  the  mobility  of  his  southern  nature,  tuned 
his  lyre,  of  late  so  doleful,  to  more  cheerful  notes,  as 
he  watched  with  well -pleased  eyes  the  jNIarchioness's 
five  fair  gentlewomen  moving  in  the  mazy  dance.  Those 
who  build  massive  edifices  of  conjecture  on  Tasso's  com- 

F.C. XVI.  D 


50  TASSO. 


plimentary  verses  to  princesses  and  ladies  of  liigli  degree, 
should  notice  the  terms  in  which  he  apostrophises  the 
fairest  of  this  quintette : — 


"  But  yet  among  you  shines 
One  brighter  than  the  rest, 
Like  Love's  own  planet  unto  hearts  adoring. 
Which  as  the  day  declines 
Shows  brighter  in  the  west : 
Then,  before  red  and  golden  dawn  upsoaring, 
Sweet  dews  keeps  ever  pouring 
From  eyes  of  light ; 
Each  herb  and  flower 
]\Iakes  fair  that  shower. 

The  earth  seems  sprinkled  o'er  with  diamonds  bright : 
To  thee  mine  eyes,  0  star, 
I  turn,  who  day's  gates  openest  and  dost  bar. 

2. 

The  rest  T  gladly  praise. 

But  thee  I  court  and  sing, 

Mark  as  thou  art  of  both  my  thoughts  and  e'yes. 

I  circle  round  thy  rays. 

And  ask  of  grace  one  thing, 

That  never  wrath  thy  charms  from  me  disguise. 

Thou  wit  canst  fertilise 

By  thy  soft  ray, 

And  drought  so  cure 

By  dews  most  pure 

That  April's  flowers  turn  straight  to  fruits  in  May, 

Wherewith  men  decorate 

Thine  altars  on  high  days  of  festive  state." 

While  so  diverting  himself,  Tasso  continued  to  corre- 
spond with  Cardinal  Albano,  through  whose  intercession 
he  hoped  to  recover  his  patron's  lost  favour. 


TASSO'S    SECOND    KETUllX.  51 

After  a  time  a  favourable  opportunity  seemed  to  offer. 
The  Duke  ^Yas  about,  for  the  third  time,  to  enter  the 
married  state  :  the  chosen  bride  was  a  ]\Iantuan  princess, 
Margaret  Gonzaga,  his  last  wife's  niece.  Tasso  hoped  to 
be  allowed  to  greet  her  with  a  ]\Iarriage  Ode ;  and,  in 
honour  of  her  Avedding,  to  be  restored  to  his  lost  post  at 
Court.  Cardinal  Albano,  whether  mistaking  Alphonso's 
mind  in  the  matter,  or  wilfuUy  deceived  by  him,  or  by 
some  person  in  his  confidence,  encouraged  Tasso  to 
return.  He  came  to  Ferrara,  February  21,  1579,  two 
days  before  the  joyous  entry  of  the  young  Princess.  He 
was  iU  received ;  the  necklace  of  pearls  of  verse  which 
he  had  strung  together  as  his  bridal  offering  was  either 
never  presented  to  her  or  despised;  the  promises  to 
which  he  trusted  were  not  performed,  and  he  foimd  the 
Duke's  mind  "much  hardened  against  him."  In  less 
than  a  month  his  patience  failed  him ;  and  in  a  fit  of 
frenzied  rage,  he  was  heard  by  many  to  curse  his  days 
passed  in  serving  an  ungratefid  master,  to  retract  the 
praises  which  he  had  bestowed  on  him  and  his,  and,  in 
short,  to  use  language  violent  enough  to  sting  Alphonso 
to  vigorous  action.  He  probably  thought  himself  clement 
when  lie  decided  on  treating  the  refractory  poet  as  mad 
instead  of  criminal,  and  ordered  him  to  be  shut  up  in  the 
hospital  of  Santa  Anna,  the  Bedlam  of  Ferrara. 


52 


CHAPTEE    V. 


TASSOS     IMPRISONMENT. 


On  the  causes  of  Tasso's  imj)risonment  volumes  have 
been  written,  and  all  sorts  of  theories  advanced.  That 
its  immediate  occasion  was  not  the  homage  paid  by 
him  to  either  of  the  two  Princesses,  Alphonso's  sisters, — 
approved  of  as  that  had  been  by  the  husband  of  one  and 
the  brother  of  both, — we  may  safely  conclude.  Italian 
jealousy,  when  roused,  struck  swiftly  and  secretly ;  and 
Tasso's  reverential  admiration  for  Leonora  had  been  an 
acknowledged  fact  for  many  years,  safely  fenced  round 
as  it  was  by  disparity  of  age  and  station,  and  by  the 
lady's  own  lofty  character.  Still  Alphonso  may  have 
been  persuaded  by  the  courtiers,  wlio  were  destroying 
his  old  regard  for  Tasso,  to  consider  compliments,  once 
found  pleasing,  such  as  Sophronia's  story,  as  imjDerti- 
nences ;  and  Leonora  herself  may  have  been  stung  to 
anger  by  hearing  that  whispers  had  been  circulated 
against  her  fair  fame  on  account  of  a  man  who  was  all 
the  time  transferring  his  devotion  from  her  to  another, 
and  may  have  been  hindered  at  once  by  wounded  feel- 
ing and  by  fear  of  scandal  from  interposing  actively 
in  his  behalf.      More  potent,  in  the  opinion  of  mauy 


ITS    HAEDSHIPS    AND    LONG    DURATION.  53 

good  judges,  was  Tasso's  imlucky  negotiation  ■with  tlie 
ISIedicean  princes.  Yet  if  its  discovery,  which  un- 
doubtedly cost  him  his  master's  good  graces,  had  made 
the  Duke  at  once  resolve  on  such  a  cruel  revenge,  it  is 
hard  to  see  why  he  did  not  execute  it  sooner ;  and  why 
he  twice  allowed  his  victim  to  escape  from  the  toils 
which,  as  some  think,  he  slowly  wound  round  him, 
driving  him  by  fiendish  arts  into  insanity.  Perhaps  the 
simplest  explanation  may  be  the  truest, — that  the  Duke 
had  come  to  regard  Tasso  as  a  person  of  unsound  mind, 
whose  hatred  might,  through  his  brilliant  talents,  be 
dangerous ;  that,  so  long  as  he  could  keep  his  grasp 
on  his  poem  and  its  complimentary  dedication,  he  cared 
not  much  w^hat  became  of  the  author ;  but  that  rather 
than  reattach  him  to  himself  by  rewards  which  he  was 
perhaps  unable,  and  certainly  unwilling,  to  bestow,  or 
than  suffer  him  to  depart  from  Ferrara  for  the  third 
time  in  a  tempest  of  wrath  which  might  echo  through- 
out Italy,  he  readily  believed,  and  willingly  acted  on, 
the  report  of  Tasso's  madness — a  report  which  there  were 
undoubtedly  fair  grounds  for  believing,  and  which  the 
j)oet's  owTi  want  of  prudence  and  ungoverned  anger  had 
done  their  best  to  confirm. 

Ee  it  as  it  may,  Tasso's  imprisonment  of  seven  years 
and  four  months,  during  most  of  which  time  his  sanity 
was  patent  to  all  fair  investigators,  has  left  an  indelible 
blot  on  Alphonso's  character — blacker  to  the  public  eye, 
from  the  greatness  of  the  victim,  than  even  the  stain 
which  worse  actions  still  have  marked  it  with.  The  first 
part  of  it  was  the  severest.  He  complains  that  neither 
confessor  nor  physician  paid  him  a  visit  for  many 
months, — a  most  suspicious  proof  that  Alphonso  did  not 


54  TASSO. 

sincerely  believe  liim  mad.  His  loneliness,  the  thirst 
which  he  endured,  the  cries  of  the  unhapjDy  madmen 
near,  all  aggravated  his  sufferings.  Manso  speaks  of  his 
comfortable  rooms  at  Santa  Anna ;  but  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  the  best  apartments  there  could  only  be  called  so  by 
way  of  comparison, — and  he  did  not  occupy  the  best  in 
his  first  two  years  of  seclusion.  Others  again  describe 
his  cell  as  a  dark  dungeon,  which  was  shown  to  Lord 
Byron  when  he  visited  Ferrara;  but  this  tradition  is 
refuted,  as  by  other  evidence,  so  by  the  fact  that  long 
elaborate  letters  in  his  own  defence,  as  well  as  philosophic 
dialogues,  date  from  the  first  years  of  his  imprisonment ; 
his  interesting  confessions  to  Scipio  Gonzaga  from  its 
second  month.  Mosti,  the  prior  of  the  hospital,  was 
unkind  to  him ;  but  his  nephew  Julius  showed  him  the 
tenderest  regard,  transcribed  and  transmitted  his  letters, 
and  did  all  in  his  power  to  alleviate  his  sufferings.  And 
after  the  first  few  years  he  was  better  lodged  and  better 
treated,  received  more  visits,  and  was  even  allowed  to  pay 
some;  permitted  under  surveillance  to  witness  the  carnival, 
and  to  attend  the  different  churches.  Still,  at  the  best)  a 
bare  lodging  in  a  madhouse  was  a  sad  change  from  the 
rich  arras  and  free  outlook  of  a  palace  chamber;  and 
none  can  think  without  compassion  of  the  solitary  con- 
finement (a  trial  to  the  soundest  mind),  the  harshness  of 
keepers,  the  unhealthy  atmosphere,  and  of  all  the  gloom 
which  so  suddenly  darkened  such  a  brilliant  life  at  the 
early  age  of  thirty-five;  or  hear  unmoved  the  cries  of 
distress  which,  in  eloquent  prose,  or  in  verse  full  of 
force  and  pathos,  resound  from  Tasso's  living  tomb. 

Of   this  last  is  his  address  to  Alj^honso,  poetically 
exaggerated  we  may  hope ;  but  yet,  it  is  to  be  feared,  iii 


APPEALS    FOR    COMPASSION    IX    YEKSE.  55 

the  main  a  faithful  picture  of  his  state.  It  begins  in  an 
abject  tone  of  supplication,  assuring  the  author  of  his 
sufferings — 

"  AVith  thee,  to  thee,  not  of  thee  I  complain  ;" 
and  then  it  goes  on  to  implore  him  to  regard  them  with 

some  pity. 

1. 
"  Ah  !  turn  thy  clement  eyes, 
And  see  among  the  poor 
Sick  herd  by  human  pity  gathered  here, 
"Where  thy  pale  servant  lies 
Groaning  with  pain  worse  than  they  all  endure. 
See  death  upon  his  face  apj)ear, 
'Mid  griefs  unnumbered  mark  his  cheer, 
His  hollow  eyes  and  dim ; 
While  prison-dust  unclean, 
And  anguish,  weak  and  lean 
Weary  and  fainting  makes  his  every  liml) ; 
Ready  to  envy  basest  mate 
Whom  pity  comforts  still  in  lowliest  estate. 

2. 
Pity  is  dead  for  me. 
And  courtesy  has  gone  astray, 
Unless  in  thee,  Lord,  they  revive  once  more,"  &c. 

Still  more  affecting  is  his  address  to  the  Ladies  Lucre- 
tia  and  Leonora,  in  which  the  woes  of  the  present  stand 
out  black  indeed  against  the  bright  background  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  past  enjoyed  in  their  company.  Did 
this  appeal  ever  reach  the  ears  for  which  it  was  intended  1 
and  if  so,  how  could  they  hear  it  and  make  no  response  1 

1. 

*'  To  you  of  my  distress 
I  tell,  and  weep,  the  mournful  history  ; 


5Q  TASSO. 

And  to  your  minds  the  memory 
Recall  of  what  I  was,  you  were, 
While,  honoured  and  held  dear, 
I  spent  beside  you  many  a  year, — 
The  hideous  present  and  the  past  so  fair  ; 
My  need,  my  state,  my  guide  to  this  dark  cell, 
My  trust  betrayed,  hope  mocked,^  alas  !  ah  let  me  tell. 


These  things,  oh  progeny 
Of  heroes,  children  great  of  kings 
And  glorious,  weeping  I  to  you  recall : 
And,  if  words  seem  to  be 
Scanty,  my  tears  from  springs 
Abundant,  as  my  sorrow  bids,  shall  fall. 
The  lyres,  the  trumps,  the  garlands,  all 
I,  wretched,  weep  ;  and  weep  beside 
Study,  disport,  and  feast, 
In  palace-hall  or  gallery  rest, 

Where  first  I  served,  then  sat  your  comrade  tried,- 
AU  gone  from  me  with  liberty  and  health. 
An.  outlaw  now,  alas  !  from  nature's  commonwealth. 

3. 

Me  who,  ah  me  !  divides 

From  rights  still  left  to  Adam's  race  ? 

What  Circe  bids  me  herd  with  beasts,  not  men  ? 

The  bird  in  tree  that  hides 

'Mid  boughs,  has  hapj)ier  place  ; 

The  beast,  ah  me  !  rests  better  in  his  den. 

For  nature  rules  in  wood  and  sflen. 


1  These  expressions  give  some  slight  colour  to  Manso's  express 
declaration,  that  it  was  a  letter  of  Leonora's  that  decided  the  poet's 
first  return  to  Ferrara  from  Sorrento.  If  such  was  the  case,  however, 
respect  for  his  Princess  sealed  his  lips  to  all  but  this  covert  complaint ; 
as  in  his  prose  account  of  the  matter  he  wholly  ignores  any  such 
encouraging  epistle. 


ODE    TO    THE    TRINCESSES.  5< 

Aud  waters  pure,  and  fresh,  and  <,'ood, 
Hands  to  them  from  the  fount ; 
And  on  them  meadow,  hillock,  mount. 
Bestow  unpoisoned,  healthful,  ready  food  ; 
On  them  the  free  heaven  shines,  on  them  the  breeze 
Blows  freshening,— them  the  sunbeams  warm  and  cheer, 
and  please. 

4. 

I  erred  ;  I  merit  pain  : 
I  erred,  this  I  confess  ;  yet  still 
My  tongue  ^  sinned,  now  my  heart  the  fault  denies ; 
Pity  I  seek  to  gain  : 
Ah  !  if  from  you  mine  ill 

Find  none,  whose  heart  shall  move  my  miseries  ? 
If  you  are  deaf  unto  my  cries, 
Who,  who  for  me  will  supplicate 
In  my  adversity  ? 

Ah,  should  there  discord  'twixt  you  be 
And  diverse  wills  in  this  my  need  so  great. 
Like  Mettius,  torn  asunder  'twixt  you  twain, 
Sad  spectacle  of  woe,  let  me  for  aye  remain. 

5. 

But  no  !  that  concert  rare 

(Your  beauty)  which  your  virtues  make, 

Let  now  for  me  its  beauteous  harmony 

Move  unto  pitying  care 

That  Lord,  for  whose  dear  sake 

My  fault  more  than  my  pains  is  grief  to  me, 

Alas  !  though  hot  and  fierce  they  be  : 

So  that  to  titles  great  and  high 

"Wide  spreading  his  renown, 

1  Tasso,  here  as  elsewhere,  seems  to  know  of  no  cause  for  his  im- 
prisonment but  the  rash  vituperations  which  he  so  abundantly  re- 
tracts. Does  his  hint  further  on,  of  possible  discord  between  the 
sisters  on  his  account,  imply  that  he  had  now  greater  hopes  from 
Lticretia  than  from  the  offended  Leonora,  or  the  reverse  ? 


58  TASSO. 

To  eacli  well-purchased  laurel-crown, 
To  trophies  decked  and  mounting  towards  the  sky, 
He  to  so  vast  heap  add  one  honour  more, — 
His  pardon  who  once  wronged,  but  ever  will  adore." 

Certainly  this  abasement  of  a  great  genius  at  the  feet 
of  a  tyrannical  Italian  prince  is  not  a  pleasant  sight; 
but  Tasso's  whole  after-conduct  showed  that  his  respect- 
ful affection  for  the  hand  which  smote  him  so  cruelly 
was  no  fiction.  To  understand  how  this  was  possible, 
Ave  must  remember  that  he  had  been  brought  up  to  serve 
in  Courts,  and  could  scarcely  imagine  life  under  any 
other  conditions ;  that  Alphonso's  kindness  to  him  had 
been  great  in  former  years,  while  his  present  ill-treat- 
ment might  appear  to  him  as  rather  the  work  of  his  Min- 
isters than  of  their  master ;  and  that  he  was  conscious 
of  having  wronged  his  benefactor,  at  least  by  words. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  the  reality  of  Tasso's 
repentance  for  a  fault  into  which  he  had  been  hurried 
by  the  Duke's  ill-treatment,  its  expression  did  not  soften 
-  Alphonso.  He  contented  himself  with  securing  his  main 
object,  the  publication  of  the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered,"  with 
its  dedication  to  himself  unaltered;  and,  after  that, 
seems  to  have  troubled  himself  little  about  its  unfortunate 
author.  We  have  seen  how  small  pains  he  took  to  effect 
the  cure  which  w\as  the  pretext  of  Tasso's  seclusion ;  he 
took  as  little  to  secure  him  his  just  profits  from  the  sale 
of  his  great  poem,  which  kept  enriching  others  while  its 
writer  remained  in  penury,  and  spreading  his  fame  to 
the  remotest  regions  while  he  continued  a  lonely  captive. 
The  Duke  does  not  seem  to  have  interfered  with  Tasso's 
liberty  of  writing  books  or  letters ;  but,  either  too  proud 
to  acknowledge  his  mistake,  or  really  believing  in  his 


Leonora's  illness.  59 

victim's  madness,  he,  Avliile  granting  various  privileges 
and  alleviations,  still  refused  to  open  the  prison-doors, 
till  he  was  at  last  forced  to  do  so  by  the  universal  indig- 
nation, and  by  intercessions  too  powerful  to  be  resisted. 
Lucretia  seems  to  have  approved  of  the  course  taken 
by  her  brother.  Of  Leonora  it  is  more  hard  to  speak  ; 
for  her  health,  never  good,  was  now  failing — the  more 
rapidly,  some  may  suppose,  on  account  of  her  rejected 
intercession  for  her  poet;  and  she  died  before  Tasso 
had  been  two  years  in  prison.  But  her  feelings  have 
not  been  disclosed  to  us.  In  November  1580  Tasso  ad- 
dressed to  her  and  her  sister  a  collection  of  his  minor 
poems,  "as  a  sign  that  neither  the  malignity  of  men, 
nor  his  ill-fortune,  had  taken  from  him  either  his  know- 
ledge of  their  worthiness,  or  his  desire  to  serve  and  honour 
them."  To  this  he  added  a  discourse,  mentioning  them 
honourably,^  on  "  Feminine  Virtue."  But  it  is  doubtful 
whether  Leonora  ever  saw  either,  ill  as  she  now  was. 

Of  this  dangerous  malady  word  was  at  length  brought 
to  Tasso,  who  thereupon  begged  the  great  preacher, 
Panigarola,  to  tell  her  when  she  recovered  that  he 
"  had  grieved  much  to  hear  of  her  sufferings,  which  he 

1  These  are  his  words  :  "  He  who  demands  in  heroic  women  not  only 
the  virtue  of  action  but  also  that  of  contemplation,  should  remember 
Eenee  of  Ferrara  and  Margaret  of  Savoy,  of  both  of  whom  my  father 
used  to  tell  me  wonders  ;  and  the  daughters  of  Kenee,  Anna,  Lucre- 
tia, and  Leonora,  are  such  both  in  their  understanding  of  affairs  of 
state,  and  in  their  judgment  of  letters,  that  no  one  can  hear  them 
speak  without  being  filled  with  the  greatest  amazement ;  and,  when- 
soever I  have  read  a  composition  of  my  own  to  any  one  of  them,  I 
judged  that  I  had  for  a  listener,  not  Sappho,  Corinna,  Diotima,  or 
Aspasia  (comparisons  too  mean  for  them),  but  the  mother  of  the 
Gracchi  herself,  or  such  another  as  she."  Serassi  thinks  that  this 
compliment  softened  Lucretia,  and  that  Tasso  owed  to  it  some  slight 
marks  of  pity  and  interest  from  her  in  his  misfortune. 


60  TASSO. 

had  not  wept  in  verse  on  account  of  a  certain  silent 
repugnance  of  his  genius ;  but  that,  if  he  could  serve  her 
in  any  other  matter,  she  must  command  him,  and  should 
find  him  most  ready  to  obey  her,  especially  in  more 
cheerful  themes  for  poetry." 

If  Panigarola  awaited  Leonora's  convalescence,  this 
message  was  never  delivered  to  her.  She  died  Febru- 
ary 10,  1581,  leaving  behind  her  a  high  character  for 
wisdom  and  sanctity.  Her  friends  felt  reconciled  to 
her  departure  by  the  long  sufferings,  borne  with  great 
patience,  which  they  had  witnessed,  in  the  midst  of 
which  they  had  seen  "that  happy  soul  supremely  de- 
siring to  depart  hence  and  unite  itself  to  its  Redeemer."  ^ 
■Her  death  was,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  time, 
bewailed  in  much  elegiac  verse  by  the  poets  of  Italy. 
One  name,  and  that  the  greatest,  was  wanting  to  the  list 
of  mourners.  Tasso  kept  silence.  He  avoided,  as  his 
message  to  the  Princess  showed,  mournfid  subjects  of 
verse  on  principle,  lest  they  should  augment  the  "  mel- 
ancholy "  or  bring  on  the  "  frenzy  "  of  which  he  often 
complains.  And  he  would  not  break  through  the  rule 
even  on  this  occasion,  either  from  displeasure  at  what  he 
might  think  was  Leonora's  indifference  to  his  woes,  or 
from  fear  of  yet  further  displeasing  Alphonso ;  or,  as  is 
more  agreeable  to  believe,  because  his  was  a  sorrow  too 
deep  for  expression  in  verse. 

It  is  remarkable  that  when  Montaigne  came  to  see 
him  four  months  earlier,  when  the  news  of  Leonora's 
malady  may  have  reached  him,  he  found  him  too  ill 
and  too  dejected  to  converse ;  so  that  the  French  essay- 
ist departed  with  the  belief  that  Tasso  was  "  no  longer 
^  Cardinal  Albano's  consolatory  letter  to  her  brother. 


EMPLOYMENTS    IN    PRISON.  Gl 

cognisant   either   of   himself   or   of   his   works."      For 
such  was  far  from  being  the  imprisoned  poet's   usual 
state.    More  generally  visitors  and  correspondents  found 
him  ready   to    defend   his   "Jerusalem"    against   criti- 
cisms, willing  to  look  at  the  poems  of  others,  even  of 
young   beginners,   in   a  friendly  spirit,   and  alike  dis- 
posed to  discourse  on  the  rules  of  his  art,  or  to  engage 
in  philosophic  or  theologic  discussion.     He  also  took 
pleasure  in  looking  at  designs  which  artists  sometimes 
brought  him  for  the  iUustration  of  his  great  poem,  now 
acquiring  a  European  reputation.     His  design  to  write 
other  epics  was   never   carried  out.     It   may  be   that 
Alphonso's  severity  deprived  the  world  of   them;  but 
this  is  scarcely  probable.     Tasso's  genius  ripened  early, 
and  won  its  greatest  triumphs  first.     The  poetic  faculty 
began  to  wither  in  him  as  he  attained  middle  life,  while 
he  put  forth  new  powers  in  a  different  direction.     Hence- 
forward prose  dialogues,  orations  of  remarkable  eloquence, 
and  discourses  on  various  subjects,  were  his  most  notice- 
able works.     Yerse  he  continued  indeed  to  manufacture 
in  large  quantities  to  oblige  correspondents,  and  to  seek 
to  interest  powerful  intercessors  ;  but  its  quality  natural- 
ly deteriorates.     "WTiat  else  could  be  expected  from  an 
author  who  thus  frankly  expresses  himself  to  one  of  the 
numerous  applicants  :  "Whosoever  asks  me  for  sonnets, 
odes,  or  other  compositions,  sets  the  dearest  price  he  can 
on  his  goodwill,  for  this  is  the  only  coin  that  I  have  left 

gold  or  silver  as  you  please  to  think  it,  not  copper 

surely,  or  you  would  not  ask  for  it ;  .  .  .  but  before 
it  can  be  dug  out  of  the  mine  of  my  sterile  genius, 
before  it  gets  hammered  and  stamped  with  the  Prince's 
image,  it  costs  me  much  time  and  much  fatigue."     Once 


62  TASSO. 

he  half  demurred,  when  asked  for  a  poem  in  a  lady's 
praise ;  vexed  to  think  how  calmly  the  Italian  women 
were  taking  the  imprisonment  of  the  poet  to  whom  they 
owed  Sophronia,  Clorinda,  and  Herminia.  But  knightly 
feeling  prevails,  and  he  writes  :  "  My  father  used  to  say 
that  men  nobly  born  ought  not  to  keep  up  any  enmity 
with  women ;  and,  although  I  consider  myself  to  have 
been  disfavoured  by  all  the  gentlcAvomen  of  Italy,  and 
not  less  than  by  the  rest  by  that  lady  whom  you  ask  me 
to  praise,  I  nevertheless  ought  not,  and  wish  not,  to 
refuse  your  request." 

Marphisa  of  Este,  Alphonso's  cousin,  and  the  wife  of 
the  Marquis  of  Massa  and  Carrara,  did  what  she  could, 
it  must  be  said,  to  make  this  reproach  undeserved. 
Mindful  of  Tasso's  verses  on  her  marriage,  she  showed 
the  imprisoned  poet  every  kindness  in  her  power,  and 
did  her  best  to  procure  his  release.  His  dialogue  on 
"Love"  commemorates  a  discourse  he  held  with  her 
and  various  noble  ladies  at  her  country-house,  where 
Alj^honso  permitted  him  to  spend  one  day ;  and  several 
sonnets  on  the  birth  of  her  children,  display  Tasso's 
grateful  sense  of  her  kindness. 

Sometimes,  though  rarely,  he  still  sounded  the  lyre  on 
his  own  account — in  his  appeal,  for  instance,  to  Time  to 
clear  his  re^^ute  before  men  : — 

"  Old  and  winged  God  !  born  with  the  sun  undying 
At  one  same  birth,  and  of  the  stars  the  mate  ; 
Who  all  things  dost  destroy  and  renovate 
In  twisted  course  now  back,  now  forward  flying  ; 

My  heart  that  sick  in  languid  pain  is  lying. 
Nor,  of  the  cruel  cares  that  vex  its  state, 
One  thorn,  though  labouring  long,  can  extirpate, 
Has  none  save  thee  to  still  its  tears  and  crying. 


SONNET  OX  THE  DEAD  LEONORA.       63 

Do  thou  uproot  ill  tlioiights,  oblivion  sweet 
Shed  o'er  my  wounds  ;  and  bid  away  to  flee 
False  images  from  palace-chambers  :  tlien 

Truth,  from  those  depths  where  she  lies  plunged,  to  meet 
Our  sight  raise  veilless,  shadowless  ;  till  see 
Her  naked  beauty  all  the  sons  of  men." 

Or  again,  very  beautifully,  when  death  had  enabled 
him  to  judge  Leonora  more  justly,  and  the  remembrance 
of  all  she  had  been  to  him  rose  like  a  clear,  pale  star 
over  the  troubled  sea  of  his  life,  he  thus  invokes  her  : — 

"  That  noble  flame  that  once  consumed  this  heart, 
"Where  I  its  ashes  hide  and  safe  retain, 
On  earth  is  quenched  ;  but,  lit  in  heaven  again, 
'Mid  stars,  in  things  eternal  has  its  part. 

Thence  I  behold  its  love-bright  sparkles  dart 

When  night  dispreads  her  veil  of  dusky  grain, 

Scattering  around  her  chilly  dewdrop  rain, 

And  feel  its  w^armth  from  thence.    Oh,  Thou  who  art 

A  fair  star  now,  if  thy  sweet  light  once  swayed 
My  dubious  course,  to  it  for  beacon  given. 
While,  mortal  yet,  thou  this  our  earth  didst  tread, — 

Immortal  now,  and  far  more  beauteous  made. 

Guide  me,  amid  the  rocks  where  I  am  driven. 
To  quiet  port  from  out  these  waters  dread." 

It  was  not  often  that  Tasso  w^as  so  inspired.  Much 
of  his  time  was  spent  in  letters  designed  to  procure  his 
release,  directed  to  Cardinal  Albano,  on  the  faith  of 
whose  assurance  he  had  returned  to  Ferrara,  to  the  Em- 
peror, and  to  one  influential  person  after  another.-^     All 

^  One  of  the  most  affecting  of  these  appeals  was  addressed  to  Leon- 
ora, Duchess  of  Mantua,  in  the  name  of  her  defunct  sister,  ■whom  he 
had  celebrated  both  in  prose  and  verse.  "  Barbara,  a  queen  by  birth, 
demands  Tasso,  and  wishes  him  to  live,  not  only  to  his  patrons  and 
friends,  but  to  himself,  to  his  studies  and  his  comfort ;  for  she,  being 
now  where  this  world's  glory  is  nothing  esteemed,  seeks  it  not,  but 


G4  TASSO. 

were  fruitless ;  and  yet  the  hope  which  they  kept  alive 
ill  the  prisoner's  breast,  and  the  vague  promises  which 
he  received  from  some  of  his  correspondents,  helped  him 
to  live  through  the  sad  and  dreary  time. 

At  last  real  light  began  to  break  through  the  darkness. 
A  worthy  Benedictine  monk,  of  a  noble  Genoese  family 
— Don  Angelo  Grillo — earnestly  undertook  his  cause, 
consoled  Tasso  by  visits,  letters,  and  presents,^  and 
wrote  really  efficacious  letters  on  his  behalf.  It  was 
time ;  for  the  prisoner's  mind  was  vexed  by  all  kinds  of 
hypochondriacal  fancies, — imaginations  that  he  had  been 
bewitched,  ideas  of  being  haunted  by  mischievous  sprites, 
and  the  like.  These,  concurring  with  religious  feeling 
deepened  by  solitary  meditation,  and  by  experience  of 
the  emptiness  of  earthly  things,  produced  at  last  a  won- 
drous vision,  which  he  hoped  might  be  real,  though  he 
scarcely  dared  to  believe  in  it.  After  describing,  in  a 
letter  dated  December  30,  1585,  his  many  painful  sensa- 
tions during  a  dangerous  illness — the  lights  which  flashed 
before  his  eyes,  and  the  sound  of  bells  and  clocks  in  his 
ears,  in  the  darkness  and  stillness  of  his  nights — he  adds  : 
"  Amid  so  many  terrors  and  pains,  there  appeared  to  me 
in  the  air  the  image  of  the  glorious  Virgin,  with  her  Son 
in  her  arms,  surrounded  by  a  rainbow ;  whence  I  ought 
not  to  despair  of  her  grace.  And  although  it  may  easily 
have  been  a  fantasy,  .  .  .  yet  I  ought  rather  to  believe 
it  to  have  been  a  miracle." 

yet  does  not  despise  gratitude,  Barbara  prays,  Barbara  supplicates  : 
who  can  refuse  me  to  Barbara  ?  Who  would  be  chary  towards  Bar- 
bara of  grace  and  favour  ? " 

1  One  of  these  was  an  emerald  ring,  the  gift  of  Angelo's  brother; 
which,  Tasso  said,  had  been  a  thing  he  had  long  wished  for  in  vain, 
"  so  small  are  my  obligations  to  fortune  and  to  men's  courtesy." 


LIBEKATIOX.  Go 

Happily  the  succeeding  summer  saw  Tasso  set  at 
liberty,— shattered  both  in  mmd  and  body,  but  in  time 
to  preserve  his  reason  from  a  total  shipwreck.  The 
city  of  Bergamo  had  interceded  for  him  at  the  close 
of  1585,  and  presented  Alphonso  with  an  inscription 
which  he  was  anxious  to  possess;  without,  however, 
obtaining  at  once  the  desired  effect.  Pope  Sixtus  Y. 
himself  sent  a  message  to  Alphonso  in  his  favour, 
in  the  March  of  1586.  At  last  the  Prince  of  Man- 
tua prevailed  on  the  Duke  to  commit  Tasso  to  liis  care ; 
and,  under  a  promise  to  be  answerable  for  his  safe 
keeping,  he  took  him  to  his  father's  Court.  They  left 
Ferrara  on  July  13,  1586,  without  Tasso  being  admitted 
to  kiss  Alphonso's  hand — a  favour  he  had  earnestly  de- 
sired ;  and  after  nearly  twenty-one  years  spent  as  a  ser- 
vant or  prisoner  of  the  house  of  Este,  Tasso,  at  the  age 
of  forty-two,  was  at  last  free,  if  he  so  pleased,  to  "  live 
in  that  lettered  leisure  which  teaches  us  to  despise  death, 
and  any  life  disjoined  from  immortality," — and  could 
look  forward  to  enjoying  not  only  the  agreeable  read- 
inf^s  which  had  been  the  consolation  of  his  imprison- 
ment, but  "  innocent  games,  pleasant  jokes,  the  comfort 
of  friends,  ease,  entertainment,  and  sports  suitable  to  the 
season  and  to  the  moderate  desires  of  an  invalid."  i  Such 
was  the  life  he  had  sketched  out  for  himself  more  than 
a  year  before ;  such  the  retirement  of  a  womided  spirit, 
shrinking  from  men's  eyes,  which  the  sonnet  addressed 
somewhere  about  this  time  to  Eaphael  Ptoncione  seems 
to  long  for  : — 

"  Like  bird,  shot  through  in  middle  flight,  I  fell, 
And  therefore  ceased  to  sing  ray  wonted  rhyme, 

1  Lettere,  vol.  ii.,  No.  342. 
F.C. — XVI.  E 


6G  TASSO. 

Raphael,  wliicli  Nilus  and  Euphrates'  clime, — 
Not  Po  alone  (where  falls  are  fatecl),i — tell. 

Now,  weak  and  frail  through  that  shock  terrible,— 
Not  in  arcade,  or  theatre  sublime. 
But  in  cool  cave  and  shade,  I  spend  my  time. 
And  when  it  thunders  treinble  much.    'Twere  well 

For  me,  'mid  friendly  trees,  the  calm  day's  dawn 
To  wait,  where  waters  sweet  from  fountain  clear 
Might  quench  my  thirst ;  while  their  deep  murmurs  meet 

And  answer  Procne's  notes  from  neighbouring  lawn. 
And  my  lament :  while  the  name  ever  dear. 
For  which  I  tune  my  voice,  its  waves  repeat." 


1  Tasso's  favourite  reference  to  the  fall  of  Phaeton  on  the  hank  of 
the  Eridanus  (Po)  as  a  foreshadowing  of  his  own. 


67 


CHAPTEE    VI. 


TASSO  S    AFTER-WANDERIXGS. 


Mantua,  at  first,  seemed  a  delightful  abode  to  Tasso. 
The  young  wife  of  Prince  Yincenzo,  Leonora — a  Tus- 
can princess — paid  him  especial  honour.  Her  husband 
liad  him  handsomely  dressed,  and  lodged  and  attend- 
ed in  his  own  house ;  where  the  fish  and  game,  the  good 
meat  and  fruit,  the  excellent  bread  and  sharp -tasted 
wines,  "  which  my  father  used  to  like,"  ^  were  a  pleasant 
change  after  the  prison  fare  of  Perrara.  Por  a  while  it 
seemed  as  though  the  house  which  had  sheltered  the  last 
days  of  Bernardo  Tasso  would,  in  like  manner,  protect 
all  his  son's  declining  years ;  and  one  of  Torquato's  first 
occupations  at  Mantua  was  ahke  a  graceful  compliment 
to  the  old  duke  for  his  kindness  to  both,  and  a  sign  of 
his  own  love  for  his  father's  memory, — the  completion 
of  Bernardo's  unfinished  poem  "  Ploridante  " — a  sort  of 
continuation  of  his  "Amadis," — and- its  dedication  to 
his  ancient  patron. 

To  please  the  young  Princess,  he  finished  the  drama 
becrun  long  before  at  Ferrara,  under  the  name  of  "  Gale- 
alto,  King  of  Xorway ;  "  and  changing  its  title  to  "  Tor- 

1  Lettere,  vol.  iii.  p.  637. 


68  TASSO. 

rismondo,"  and  studying  Sophocles  as  his  model,  accom- 
plished a  play  which,  in  the  singular  dearth  of  fine 
tragedies  in  Italy,  has  always  occupied  a  liigh  rank  in 
his  own  country. 

Its  jDublication  added  to  his  fame  :  so  did  that  of  more 
dialogues  and  discourses,  and  of  some  of  his  letters.  On 
the  whole,  we  may  say  that  the  year  spent  at  Mantua 
was  a  happy  one.  And  the  second  year  of  Tasso's  free- 
dom o]Dened  well.  His  relation,  the  Cavaliere  Tasso, 
sent  his  coach  to  conduct  him  in  state  to  the  great  fair 
at  Bergamo  ;  ■••  where  he  was  heartily  welcomed,  early  in 
August  1587,  by  numerous  friends  and  kinsmen,  and 
made  the  acquaintance  of  that  fair  Lelia,  who  had 
bewitched  his  cousin  Hercules,  and  made  him  recant  his 
declarations  against  matrimony — whose  union  with  him 
he  had  saluted  by  an  epithalamium,  and  also  by  an  elo- 
quent letter,  rising  to  the  dignity  of  an  oration,  in  praise 
of  marriage  ^ — and  who  now  did  her  best  to  repay  the 
celebrity,  which  had  been  his  wedding-gift  to  her,  by 
her  delightful  conversation. 

But  on  the  24th  of  August  the  old  Duke  of  Mantua 
died ;  and  Tasso  thought  it  his  duty  to  return  to  pay  his 
respects  to  his  son  and  successor,  whom  he  found  too 
busied  with  affairs  of  state  to  give  him  speedy  audience. 
He  seems  to  have  feared  that  the  new  duke's  former 

1  Dear  to  him,  as  he  says,  as  the  birthplace  of  his  celebrated  father — 

"  Who  amid  arms  still  graceful  poems  sang." 

2  It  contains  this  exquisite  sentence  :  "The  beauty  which  appears 
in  the  face  is  nothing  else  but  the  splendour  of  the  victorious  soul, 
which,  having  overcome  all  that  opposed  itself  to  it,  as  the  sun  dis- 
solves the  clouds,  shines  forth  in  the  eyes  and  paints  the  face  with 
colours  more  lovely  than  are  those  we  admire  in  the  rainbow  ;  for,  as 
the  iris  is  the  token  of  the  sun's  victory,  after  the  same  manner  is 
grace  the  certain  proof  of  that  of  the  soul." 


AT    LORETTO.  69 

regard  for  him  had  died  away ;  besides,  he  had  for  some 
months  been  thinking  of  a  sojourn  at  Eome,  under  the 
protection  of  several  friendly  Cardinals, — the  wish,  too, 
to  know  that  he  was  not  only  free  at  Mantua,  but  free 
to  leave  it,  seems  to  have  had  its  effect ;  and  the  result 
of  these  combined  causes  was,  that  he  asked  Duke  Yin- 
cenzo's  permission  to  perform  a  vow  of  long-standing  at 
Loretto,  and  proceed  from  thence  to  Rome.  The  Duke 
did  not  think  it  needfid  to  interpret  his  own  promise  to 
Alphonso  very  strictly,  and  so  did  not  refuse  leave  :  still, 
perhaps  wishing  it  to  appear  as  rather  taken  than  given, 
he  gave  Tasso  no  encouragement  to  depart,  and  no  sup- 
phes  for  his  journey, — on  which  he  would  have  fared 
badly  had  it  not  been  for  convent  hospitality,  and  the 
kindness  of  friends.  He  reached  Loretto  the  last  day  of 
October ;  forgot  the  philosopher  in  the  penitent  at  the 
sight  of  its  holy  house;  and  communicated  there,  with 
many  tears  and  the  greatest  compunction  at  the  remem- 
brance of  his  youthful  transgressions.  Mindful  of  the 
vision  with  which  he  had  been  favoured  in  prison,  he 
devoutly  addressed  the  blessed  Yiro-in  in  an  ode,  which 
bef^ins — • 

"  Lo  !  'mid  the  tempests  and  fierce  gusts  of  wind 
That  sweep  our  life's  wide  trackless  sea, — 
O  holy  Star  !  me  has  thy  splendour  guided,"  &c. 

and  went  on  to  Eome,  where  he  was  well  received  by 
Cardinal  Gonzaga  (as  he  shortly  afterwards  became); 
— under  whose  kind  auspices  the  city  seemed  to  him 
"  beautiful  and  courteous  as  he  had  expected."  He  was 
in  time  to  celebrate,  by  an  ode,  the  friendly  Scipio's 
promotion,  which  followed  on  December  18;  and  might, 
it  should  seem,  have  passed  many  peaceful  days  at  Eome, 


70  TASSO. 

in  spite  of  the  Duke  of  Ferrara's  complaints  that  lie  had 
been  suffered  to  leave  Mantua,  and  Cardinal  Albano's 
resentment  of  his  own  disregarded  counsel  to  remain 
there.  But  the  restlessness  which  had  now  become  a 
confirmed  habit  of  his  mind  impelled  him  forward  :  he 
wished  to  see  his  sister  and  her  second  husband  ;  he  was 
anxious  to  recover  his  share  of  his  mother's  do^\T:y ;  and 
in  March  1588  he  went  to  Naples. 

He  there  heard  that  his  sister  was  dead  :  this  was  why 
he  had  received  no  answer  to  a  touching  letter,  written 
shortly  after  he  reached  Eome,  in  wliich  he  had  told  her 
that  his  body  was  sick  with  many  diseases,  his  mind 
weakened,  his  fortune  more  adverse  than  ever ;  neither 
friend  nor  patron  left  such  as  he  coidd  wish  for ;  that 
his  Lombard  kinsmen  had  given  him  up;^  and  that  she 
alone  was  left  to  him.  "  Oh,"  he  goes  on  passionately, 
"  may  you  at  least  be  alive,  so  that  I  may  come,  I  say 
not  to  enjoy,  but  to  breathe,  the  air  of  that  heaven  under 
which  I  was  born ;  to  be  cheered  by  the  sight  of  the  sea 
and  the  gardens ;  to  console  myself  by  your  affection. 
.  .  .  How  great  would  be  my  obligation  to  the  mercy  of 
God  for  reserving  me  to  die  in  your  arms,  and  not  in 
those  of  the  attendants  in  a  hospital ! " 

But  though  this  prayer  was  not  granted,  yet  the  homeless 
man  found  many  ready  to  welcome  him  in  K'aples, — so 
many  that,  rather  than  offend  friend  or  relative,  Manso 
says,  he  sojourned  in  the  monastery  of  Mount  Olivet.  It 
was  now  that  his  first  biographer — whose  memoirs  of  this 
part  of  his  life  at  least  are  authentic — (m  old  age  the 
friend  and  correspondent  of  Milton,  as  in  youth  of  Tasso) 

1  Let  us  hope,  after  his  recent  affectionate  reception  at  Bergamo, 
that  this  was  a  mere  fancy. 


rUIENDSHIP    WITH    MAKSO.  71 

Mauso,  Marquis  della  Villa,  and  Lord  of  Bisaccio,  made 
his  acquaintance.  It  was  to  this  last-named  town  that 
he  went  Avith  his  new  friend,  in  October,  for  the  vintage 
and  autumji  diversions, — after  a  summer  sj)ent  in  fruit- 
less conferences  with  lawyers  and  physicians  for  the 
recovery  of  his  lost  property  and  health ;  in  vain  en- 
deavours to  prevent  his  "  Familiar  Letters  "  from  being 
published  Avithout  profit  to  himself ;  in  the  composition 
of  a  poem  on  the  Order  of  Mount  Olivet  (left  unfinished), 
which  was  written  to  please  his  kind  entertainers ;  and 
in  discussions  with  friends  on  the  additions  which  he 
wished  to  make  to  his  "Jerusalem."  Manso's  account 
of  their  holiday  in  the  country  is  a  pleasant  one.  "  Sig- 
ner Torquato,"  he  pyrites,  "  has  become  a  mighty  hunter, 
and  minds  neither  rough  weather  nor  tracks.  'We  spend 
bad  days  and  our  evenings  in  hstening  to  music  and 
singing ;  for  he  takes  particular  pleasure  in  hearing  our 
improvisatori,  envying  them  that  readiness  in  versifica- 
tion of  which,  he  says,  nature  has  been  so  avaricious  to 
himself.  Sometimes  we  and  the  ladies  here  have  a  dance, 
which  he  also  likes  much ;  but  oftenest  we  stay  talking 
by  the  fire."  And  then  follows  an  extraordinary  account 
of  confidential  communications  made  to  him  by  Tasso, 
about  a  spirit  with  which  he  believed  himself  to  hold 
converse,  and  whom  he  promised  to  show  to  his  friend. 
"But,"  says  Manso,  "when,  after  long  looking  fixedly 
at  a  -window,  he  said  to  me,  '  Behold  the  friendly  spirit 
who  has  courteously  come  to  discourse  with  me !  look 
and  you  will  see  the  truth  of  my  words,'  I,  turning  there 
at  once,  saw  nought  but  the  sunbeams  through  the  case- 
ment. VTiile  I  looked  about  me,  seeing  nothing,  I  how- 
ever heard  Torquato,  who  had  entered  into  the  prof oundest 


72  TASSO. 

reasonings  "vvitli  some  one."  These  reasonings,  lie  adds, 
were  on  the  deepest  subjects,  and  expressed  in  an  unusual 
manner.  The  replies  he  heard  not,  but  could  conjecture 
from  Tasso's  rejoinders;  who,  when  the  singular  interview 
was  over,  asked  him  (but  received  an  answer  in  the  nega- 
tive) whether  it  had  removed  his  doubts.  Then  Tasso 
smiled  himself ;  leaving  Manso  uncertain,  as  he  does  us, 
whether  he  had  been  mystifying  his  young  admirer,  or 
whether,  in  his  long  solitudes,  his  own  mental  abstrac- 
tions had  taken  shapes  which  seemed  wholly  external  to 
himself. 

Tasso's  return  to  Eome  in  the  following  December 
was  cheered  by  the  kindness  of  I^icholas  degli  Oddi, 
of  the  Eoman  convent  of  IMount  Olivet;  who,  grate- 
ful for  the  poem  in  honour  of  his  founder,  helped 
Tasso  through  his  difficulties  at  the  custom-house,  and 
always  readily  received  him  at  Santa  Maria  JSTuova. 
This  was  the  more  useful,  as  Tasso's  hopes  of  apartments 
at  the  Vatican  had  been,  so  far,  disappointed.  Pope 
Sixtus  showed  no  sign  of  wishing  to  honour  in  Tasso 
the  singer  of  the  triumphs  of  the  cross, — not  even 
admitting  him  to  an  audience  until  the  following  July. 
The  verses  written  in  his  praise  a  year  before  had 
passed  unnoticed ;  so,  too,  had  Tasso's  fine  ode  on  his 
chapel  of  "The  Holy  Manger"  in  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore.  Let  us  hope,  as  there  is  good  reason  to  do,  that 
the  neglected  poet  turned  more  and  more  for  consolation 
in  his  poverty  and  growing  bad  health  to  Him  in  whose 
praise  that  ode  was  written ;  and  that,  disappointed  in 
the  servant,  he  thought  only  of  the  Master  as,  on  this 
his  second  Christmas  in  Rome,  he  repeated  to  himself 
these  stanzas ;  which,  noble  in  themselves,  gave  Milton 


CHRISTMAS    ODE.  73 

hints  of  which  he  made  yet  a  nohler  use  in  his  own 
o-reat  Ode  on  the  Nativity  : — 

D 

1. 

«  Heaven  opens,  and  th'  angelic  splendours  shine  ; 
Flashes  from  myriad  shields, 
Bright  crowns,  pure  fires,  adorn  it  with  their  hght : 
°Yet,  my  soul,  turn  thine  eyne 
From  those  celestial  fields 
Whose  lucid  calm  shines  than  the  day  more  hright — 
From  songs  of  choirs  amid  that  radiance  white,— 

To  view  the  crowd  of  shepherds  mean. 
At  the  strange  glory  and  the  song  awaking  ; 
And  that  low  dwelling  where  abides 
Whom  Night  in  shadow  hides,— 
With  awe  a  sacred  screen  her  mantle  making,— 
Of  angels  and  of  heaven  the  lofty  Queen, 
The  old  man  at  her  side  her  joy  partaking  ; 
The  promised  Birth  adore 
The  ox  and  ass  hefore  ; 
And  see,  within  straight  limits  hounded, 
Heaven's  wonders  hy  earth's  miracle  confounded. 

2. 
I  seem  to  see  each  high  Intelligence, 

Killer  of  heavenly  sphere, 
To  honour  it  bid  each  man  lay  aside 
The  weapon  of  offence, 
The  standards  waking  fear  ; 
Far  as  from  East  to  West  the  world  spreads  wide, 
Hushing  Mars'  choirs  flaming  in  furious  pride. 
°  Nor  upon  earth  alone  is  peace 
Closing  of  fabled  Janus'  house  the  portal,— 
Firm  peace  is  made  'twixt  heaven  and  earth, 

Now  God  as  man  has  birth  ; 
Who  shall,  self-offered  to  the  anguish  mortal. 
Bear  the  first  sin's  just  doom  and  make  it  cease  ; 
Subdue  our  cruel  foe  with  arms  immortal 


74  TASSO. 

(That  tj^rant  through  whose  lie 

We  all  are  born  to  die)  ; 
And  make  His  cross  His  victory's  token, 
Ope  Heaven,  and  leave  Hell's  gates  o'erthrown  and 
broken. 


Apollo  now  grows  nmte,  his  fount  and  grot, 
Dumb  those  gods  false  and  vain 
Whose  death  his  wdser  song  to  men  foretold  ; 

Daphne  now  answers  not 

From  oak  with  accents  plain  ; 
Now  ends  that  spirit,  whereby  she  lived  of  old, 
By  doom  'gainst  idols  in  heaven's  court  enscrolled ; 

Now  Amnion  weak  and  helpless  lies 
Where  the  strong  south  wind,  desert-sands  upraising, 

Makes  tempest  as  on  stormy  sea  : 

The  car  of  Cybele, 
Whereto  she  yoked  her  lion-team  amazing, 
■  By  Mithras'  fallen  temple  falls  ;  while  flies 
Or  falls  the  Corybantes'  troop,  who,  praising 

Their  Jove  with  cries  around. 

Made  Crete  and  Ida  sound  ; 
And,  from  their  altars,  sad  are  going 
Apis,  Anubis  barking  not,  nor  lowing. 

4. 

That  truth  whom  the  first  Scriptures  veiled,  is  sending 

Around  the  world  new  light, — 
Light  that  is  Light  of  the  great  Light  Eterne. 

Nations,  from  far  attending, 

Run  where  that  star  shines  bright, 
Whose  beams  to  point  you  out  your  Master  burn  : 
With  offerings,  like  the  kings,  to  Him  return, 
Your  God,  your  King,  who  yet  must  die  ; 
To  Him  sweet  myrrh,  fine  gold,  and  incense,  giving. 

With  shepherds  praise,  nor  vanquished  be 

By  their  rude  loyalty  ; 


DISAPPOINTED    IN    GONZAGA.  75 

With  angels  in  the  joyous  chorus  striving, 
With  all  the  mind  knows  dearest  and  most  high, 
Crown  Him,  as  they,  the  Lord  of  dead  and  living. 
Let  equal  joy  inspire 
Heaven's  host  and  earthly  choir, 
Since  very  God,  made  man,  now  raises 
By  love  our  earth,  while   heaven  bows  down  and 
praises." 

The  succeedincr  months  do  not  seem  to  have  been 
happy  ones.  Cardinal  Gonzaga's  coldness,  and  the 
insults  of  his  dependants,  vexed  Tasso's  susceptible 
heart  increasingly  throughout  their  course.  And  at 
last,  one  of  these,  George  Alario  by  name,  not  content 
with  intercepting  the  Duke  of  Mantua's  gifts  to  the 
poet,  during  his  master's  absence,  in  August  1589, 
actually  took  it  upon  him  to  turn  him  out  of  his  house. 

So  said,  and  doubtless  thought,  Tasso,  who  took  refuge 
thereupon  at  Santa  IMaria  Xuova ;  but  as  his  was  the 
nervous  excitement  which  often  takes  fancies  for  facts, 
it  is  not  now  possible  to  say  to  wdiat  extent  his  imagin- 
ation magnified  or  invented  slights  for  him.  Shortly 
before  this  occurrence  we  find  him  writing  to  his  old 
friend  the  Duke  of  Urbino  in  a  tone  of  profound  dejec- 
tion. "  I  have  many  causes  for  despair, — my  inveterate 
malady,  remedies  and  medicines  which  only  harm  me, 
lost  opportunities,  poverty,  disfavour,  the  bad  opinion 
entertained  groundlessly  by  many  of  my  disposition  and 
habits,  promises  which  have  proved  fallacious,  the  quiet 
of  my  studies  disturbed,  my  actions  impeded,  and,  in 
sum,  both  lives  denied  me  with  dread  of  a  double  death, 
— I  mean,  of  the  body  and  of  the  soul,  for  that  of  my 
name  is  less  to  be  considered.    .    .    .    Eut  yet,  if  faith, 


76  TASSO. 

piety,  justice,  and  religion  are  not  entirely  dead  or 
banished  from  the  world,  I  may  hope  for  some  aid  in 
my  sickness,  which  is  like  a  premature  old  age,  and  at 
least  some  consolation  for  my  poverty." 

Allowing  for  rhetorical  exaggerations,  these  words  dis- 
close Tasso's  very  real  afflictions.  Considering  the  state 
of  medical  science  in  those  days,  the  poverty  which  pre- 
vented him  feeing  more  physicians,  and  being  subject  to 
more  of  their  violent  and  exhausting  methods  of  cure 
than  he  actually  endured,  was  indeed  an  advantage ;  but 
it  could  not  possibly  appear  such  to  him,  so  that  disap- 
jDointed  hopes  of  recovery  stand  first  on  the  list.  Then 
the  slow  progress  of  his  lawsuit  might  well  afflict  him ; 
and  he  was  hoping,  through  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  to 
obtain  (as  he  did  in  the  following  October)  the  powerful 
intervention  of  the  King  of  Spain  to  expedite  it.  The 
prospect  of  being  independent  at  last,  and  of  no  longer 
having  continually  to  solicit  alms  from  the  great,  and  pay 
dear  for  their  help  by  degrading  his  poetic  gifts  to  flat- 
tery, was  one,  the  deferred  realisation  of  which  might 
well  make  Tasso's  heart  sick :  much  as  long  habit,  and 
the  bad  customs  of  his  age  and  country,  may  have  hidden 
from  him  the  true  baseness  of  such  a  way  of  living. 
Last,  but  not  least,  this  letter  points  to  a  constant  source 
of  disquiet  in  the  "  opinions "  entertained  of  him  by 
others.  Tasso  knew  that  while  men  admned  his  genius, 
they  consoled  themselves  for  any  sense  of  inferiority  by 
secretly  despising  him  as  half,  or  wholly,  crazed ;  and  he 
must  have  been  painfully  conscious  that,  by  his  long  fits 
of  depression  which  often  made  him  bad  company,  and 
by  his  occasional  delusions,  he  had  given  common  mmds 
only  too  good  ground  for  doing  so. 


GPvAZIOSO'S    CONTEMPTUOUS    PITY.  77 

Take,  for  a  specimen  of  them,  Grazioso,  agent  in  Eome 
to  the  Duke  of  TJrbino,  who  sends  a  melancholy  letter 
of  Tasso  to  a  mutual  friend  (in  which  the  fear  that  he 
may  have  to  die  in  an  inn  for  lack  of  apartments  else- 
Avhere  is  expressed)  to  its  intended  recipient,  with  the 
following  commentary  :  "  Poor  Tasso,  after  having  dined 
in  my  house  yesterday,  set  to  work  to  vn:ite  many  letters, 
— this  one  among  the  rest.     Shortly  afterwards,  Signor 
Fabio  Orsino  and  other  gentlemen  coming  in,  curiosity 
made  us  open  them  all — so  much  do  his  things  please 
even  in  his  madness.    You  must  show  patience  and  com- 
passion towards  this  poor  fellow,  who,  with  the  exception 
of  still  speaking  well,  now  knows  neither  what  he  says  nor 
what  he  wants.    We  kept  copies  of  all  these  letters.    What 
compassion  people  ought  to  show  him  !  .  .  .  I  add  that 
this  unfortunate  man  would  be  gladly  welcomed,  not 
merely  by  nobles,  but  by  every  private  individual,  both 
into  their  houses  and  into  their  hearts,  but  his  humours 
make  him  distrust  everybody.     In  the  house  of  Cardinal 
Scipio  Gonzaga  there  are  apartments  and  beds  always 
reserved  for  him  alone,  and  men  destined  for  his  sole  ser- 
vice ;  but  he  flies  and  distrusts  even  that  lord.     In  sum, 
it  is  a  great  infelicity  to  this  age,  to  be  deprived  of  tlie 
whole  of  the  greatest  genius  that  many  past  ages  have 
produced.     What  sage  ever  spoke,  either  in  prose  or  in 
rhyme,  better  than  this  madman!"     This  letter  bears 
date  July  22,   1589,  about  a  fortnight  before  Tasso's 
alleged  expulsion  from  the  Cardinal's  house.     Whether 
or  not  it  lead  the  reader  to  exonerate  his  steward  from 
the  poet's  charges,  it  wiU  at  least  show  us  the  trials  to 
which  Tasso's  proud  and  sensitive  spirit  was  exposed; 
end  the  sad  impossibility  of  his  getting  that  cloud  dis- 


78  TASSO. 

persed  wliicli  his  own  imprudence  and  Alplionso's  cruelty 
had  brought  to  overshadow  his  declining  years.  Eut 
these  trials  had  their  good  effect.  It  is  about  this  time 
that  Ave  find  him  writing,  "  If  our  faith  in  men  proves 
false,  faith  in  Clnist  at  least  cannot  deceive  us." 

Tasso  suffered  much  from  fever  during  the  succeeding 
autumn ;  part  of  the  November  of  which  he  spent  in  the 
Eergamasque  hospital  at  Eome,  from  unwillingness  to 
burden  the  kind  Olivetan  fathers.  Eeturning  to  Scij^io 
Gonzaga's  house  in  February,  by  invitation,  he  had 
cause  to  consider  himself  ill-used  by  his  old  friend ;  who, 
having  allowed  a  relative  to  promise  that  he  should  be 
treated  there  like  himself,  neither  admitted  him  to  his 
own  table  (the  sign  so  much  insisted  on  of  his  rank  as  a 
gentleman  which  had  been  conceded  to  him  in  early 
youth  at  Terrara)  nor  had  him  so  lodged  and  attended 
as  of  old.  This  want  of  courtesy  made  him  distrustfid 
of  the  whole  house  of  Gonzaga,  so  that  he  declined  the 
favourable  offers,  procured  for  him  from  the  Duke  of 
Mantua  by  his  friend  Costantini,  and  accepted  instead 
those  sent  him  by  the  new  Grand-Duke  of  Tuscany 
(formerly  Cardinal  de'  Medici),  accompanied  as  they 
were  by  a  considerable  sum  of  money  to  enable  him  to 
inidertake  the  journey  to  Florence.  He  never  again 
had  to  take  refuge  in  a  charitable  institution ;  his  out- 
ward course  was  brighter  from  this  time  forward ;  but 
increasing  bad  health  made  it  in  reality  as  melancholy 
as  it  had  ever  been. 

Still  his  Tuscan  visit  was  in  many  ways  highly  satis- 
factory to  him.  From  Florence  had  come  an  ungenerous 
assault  on  his  great  poem,  during  the  time  of  his  im- 
prisonment ;  when  Salviati,  its  former  eulogist,  gratified 


VISIT    TO    FLORENCE.  79 

Alphonso's  spite  by  professing  to  condemn  it  in  the 
name  of  the  Academy  of  La  Cnisca.  The  captive 
poet  had  found  many  defenders  at  the  time,  and 
had  maintamed  his  own  cause,  and  that  of  his  father,^ 
involved  in  the  same  censiu'e,  in  a  grave  and  learned 
apology.  But  the  enthusiastic  reception  which  he  met 
with  alike  from  prince  and  people,  the  crowds  which  as- 
sembled to  behold  him,  to  point  out  to  one  another  the 
great  poet  of  Italy,  and  to  pay  him  reverential  homage, 
must  have  been  peculiarly  welcome  to  Tasso  in  Florence, 
as  a  proof  that  all  enmity  in  that  city  either  to  himself 
or  to  his  works  had  died  with  Salviati.  We  can  trace  a 
consequent  revival  of  his  spirits  in  the  anecdote  of  his 
introducing  himself  to  the  architect  Euontalenti,  whom 
he  met  in  the  streets  of  Florence,  with  the  flatterino- 
inquiry,  "  Are  you  that  Euontalenti  who  is  spoken  of  so 
highly  for  the  marvellous  inventions  to  wliich  his  genius 
daily  gives  birth?  who  devised  those  amazingly  clever 
machines  for  Tasso's  play?"  and  on  receiving,  along 
with  a  modest  disclaimer  of  his  praise,  an  answer  in  the 
aJSirmative,  casting  his  arms  round  his  neck  with  a  sweet 
smile,  and  saymg,  "  You  are  Eernardo  Euontalenti  and 
I  am  Torquato  Tasso.  Adieu,  friend,  adieu."  Eut  we 
also  see  the  depression  of  spirits  which  in  Tasso's  case 
followed  such  momentary  cheerfulness,  and  which  was 
doubtless  aggravated  by  the  exliaustion  caused  by  the 

1  Tlie  contemptuous  way  in  which  his  father's  poem  was  spoken  of 
wounded  Tasso  more  than  the  assaults  on  himself.  In  undertaking 
Bernardo's  defence,  he  says  :  "I  will  not  say,  as  did  Socrates,  that  I 
am  doing  what  the  Athenian  laws  enjoin, — or  yet  the  Koman ;  but 
rather  what  those  of  Nature  command,  which  are  eternal,  and  can 
be  changed  by  the  will  of  no  man,  neither  yet  can  lose  their  authority 
by  the  change  of  kingdoms  and  empires." 


80  TASSO. 

heats  of  summer,  in  a  contemporary  letter  dated  August 
4th,  which  speaks  of  Tasso  as  "  still  at  Florence,  and  in 
a  truly  unhappy  state  of  mind,  since  not  even  gladness 
itself  would  have  the  power  to  gladden  him  a  little." 

Early  in  September  Tasso  returned  to  Eome,  which 
he  found  excited  about  the  election  of  a  successor  to 
Sixtus  Y.,  in  the  j^erson  of  Urban  VIL,  who  only  sur- 
vived his  elevation  to  the  pontificate  twelve  days.  He 
rose  from  a  sick-bed  to  salute  with  an  ode  Urban's  suc- 
cessor, Gregory ;  for,  as  he  truly  said,  he  was  more  sure 
of  being  able  to  write  than  to  live.  He  continued  to 
receive  presents  from  his  princely  friends  ;  his  eagerness 
to  furnish  his  sideboard  with  plate  at  their  expense  is 
amusing ;  but  the  Grand  -  Duke's  silver  goblets,  the 
silver  basin  which  bespoke  the  gratitude  of  the  Sicilian 
Tancred's  descendant,  and  similar  ornaments,  were  per- 
haps pleasant  to  the  childlike  fancy  of  the  sick  poet  as 
remembrances  of  that  Court  life  which  he  had  finally 
abandoned,  but  had  never  ceased  to  love.  The  money 
presented  to  him  in  Florence  he  tried  by  economy  to 
make  sufficient  for  his  needs, — "dressing,"  as  he  says, 
"less  honourably  than  might  befit  one  who  was  born  a 
gentleman,  and  had  no  plebeian  bringing  up.  I  have 
hardly  bought  two  couple  of  melons  for  my  own  pleasure 
in  all  last  summer."  Doctors  and  books  are  the  chief 
expenses  which  he  owns  to.  His  biographer  Serassi 
thinks  that  he  was  cheated  by  his  servants ;  but,  an}-- 
how,  it  must  have  been  hard  for  an  invalid  gentleman 
to  live  on  praise,  presents,  and  scanty  supplies  of 
money,  doled  out  at  uncertain  intervals. 

This  continued  poverty  must  have  been  one  of  the 
aggravating  causes  of  Tasso's  restlessness — a  restlessness 


AGAIN    AT    MANTUA  81 

•which  made  him,  Aveak  as  he  was,  yield  at  length  to 
the  persuasions  of  Costantini  (who,  as  the  Tuscan  ambas- 
sador, had  befriended  him  in  prison),  and  pay  a  second 
visit  in  his  company  to  Mantua,  where  Costantini  was 
now  hicrh  in  favour  with  the  Duke  and  Duchess.  This 
journey,  performed  by  easy  stages  in  the  February  and 
March  of  1591,  had,  as  one  result,  "The  Genealogy 
of  the  House  of  Gonzaga,"  composed  by  Tasso  in  one 
hundred  and  nineteen  octaves,  and  celebrated  for  its 
account  of  the  battle  of  the  Taro.  It  was  Tasso's  last 
long  poem  on  a  secular  subject. 

Before  long  he  wearied  of  the  Mantuan  palace, 
courteously  as  he  was  treated  there,  and  kind  as  the 
Duchess  ever  was  to  him.^  He  pined  for  solitude,  and 
disliked  the  restraints  of  Court  life.  "  I  know  by  ex- 
perience," he  Avrote  to  a  friend,  "  that  in  this  my  most 
lasting  and  imjust  adversity  of  many  years,  I  have  had 
no  securer,  more  comfortable,  or  more  honourable  refuge 
than  this  house.  But  I  cannot  change  my  end,  although 
the  means  may  vary ;  and  I  ought  not,  through  desire  of 
long  life,  to  make  a  worse  choice  than  I  made  in  boy- 
hood ;  for  I  have  lived  too  Iq^g  already  at  the  beck  and 
call  of  other  men's  fancy  and  convenience,  and  have 
never  yet  been  able  to  live  to  myself,  heedless  of  their 
favour.  The  gaiety  or  pleasures  of  youth  are  unfitted  to 
my  present  age,  and  suit  it  no  better  than  would  the 
yeUow  or  blue  clothes  which  my  mother  used  to  make 
for  me.     It  behoves  me  therefore  both  to  clothe  myself 

1  So  late  as  April  1593,  just  two  years  before  Tasso's  death,  we  find 
him  thanking  her  for  the  offer  of  two  turquoises,  and  asking  her  to 
give  him  instead  a  ruby  and  pearl  ring, — "to  be  ray  spousal  rinjr, 
should  I  ever  marry  ;  and  should  that  occasion  not  present  itself,  as  a 
remedy  against  melancholy." 

F.C. XVI.  F 


82  TASSO. 

suitably,  not  only  to  the  season  Liit  to  my  years,  and  to 
enjoy  those  things  which  may  reasonably  give  pleasure 
to  one  in  my  case.  And,  if  other  occasions  of  it  are 
refused  me,  I  can  at  any  rate  find  pleasure  in  the  com- 
pany of  my  books,  which  do  not  exclude  me  from  the 
reasonmgs  and  (so  to  speak)  the  conversation  of  men 
better,  nobler,  and  more  honourable  than  myself." 

So  Tasso  went  back  to  Eome,  where,  in  the  mean 
time,  Pope  Innocent  had  succeeded  Gregory ;  himself  to 
fill  St  Peter's  chair  for  two  months,  and  to  die  with  the 
dying  year.  Cardmal  Albano  had  died  while  Tasso  was 
at  Mantua;  but  his  secretary,  Maurice  Cataneo,  the 
poet's  old  friend,  received  Tasso  hospitably,  and  he  had 
no  cause  ai^^ain  to  set  liis  face  northward. 


83 


CHAPTER    VII. 

LAST    YEARS    AND    DEATH. 

Tasso  spent  the  last  three  years  of  his  life  partly  at 
Naples,  but  mostly  at  Rome.  At  Naples,  the  Prince  of 
Conca  (whose  wish  to  have  him  as  his  guest  on  a  former 
visit  had  been  disappointed  by  the  political  fears  of  his 
father),  now  free  to  do  as  he  liked,  entertained  him  sump- 
tuously, while  Manso's  house  stood  ever  open  to  him. 
It  stood,  as  its  o^vner  tells  us,  "  on  the  enchanting  shore 
of  the  sea,  a  little  raised  above  the  others,  and  sur- 
rounded by  most  beautiful  gardens  ;  which  (when  Tasso 
visited  him  in  March),  reclothed  by  the  coming  spring 
Avith  fresh  leaves  and  varied  flowers,  by  their  verdure 
and  sweet  scent,  and  yet  more  by  the  piu^ity  of  the  air, 
so  recreated  Torquato  from  his  inveterate  melancholy, 
that  alike  through  this  and  through  the  liberty  which 
he  felt  in  that  house,  which  he  regarded  not  merely  as 
that  of  a  particular  friend  but  as  his  own,  he  began  to 
feel  his  health  sensibly  improved,  and  to  look  on  him- 
self as  nearly  well." 

In  these  two  houses  Tasso  laboured  at  the  remodelling 
of  his  great  poem,  which,  very  considerably  altered, 
appeared  under  the  title  of  "  Jerusalem  Conquered  "  in 


81:  ,     TASSO. 

December  1593.  As  an  illustration  of  the  anxiety  of 
Italian  princes  in  those  times  to  have  their  names  as- 
sociated with  great  writings,  Manso's  anecdote  of  the 
Prince  of  Conca  is  worth  attending  to.  He  tells  us 
that,  from  his  wish  to  have  this  work  finished  at,  and 
dated  for  publication  from,  his  house,  the  Prince  had 
told  a  servant  to  watch  the  manuscript  book  which 
contained  it  constantly,  and  to  see  that  it  was  not 
taken  outside  the  palace.  That  Tasso,  observing  this, 
complained  that  he  was  no  longer  free ;  whereupon 
Manso  at  once  set  him  at  liberty  by  coming  the  next 
day  and, — having  taken  the  poet  by  one  hand  and  his 
poem  with  the  other,  —  conducting  both  to  his  own 
neighbouring  house ;  the  servant  not  daring  to  interfere 
with  so  great  a  personage  as  the  Marquis  della  Yilla. 
He  adds  that  Conca  good-naturedly  took  no  offence  at 
this,  dined  with  him  and  Tasso  next  day,  and  con- 
tinued to  make  the  latter  as  welcome  as  before. 

The  "  Jerusalem,"  as  might  be  expected,  was  altered, 
not  improved,  by  Tasso's  late  labours.  They  were 
directed  to  three  ends  :  the  first,  that  of  making  the 
poem  more  regular  by  the  omission  of  some  of  its  love 
episodes,  and  more  historical  by  the  introduction  of 
a  large  number  of  details  from  the  chronicles  of  the 
crusades — objects  only  attainable  by  sacrificing  several 
of  the  loveliest  passages  in  the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered  ; " 
the  second,  that  of  making  the  jDoem  more  religious 
by  interpolations  like  the  paraphrase  of  Isaiah's  sixtieth 
chapter  in  the  account  of  the  crusaders'  first  sight 
of  Jerusalem,  or  Godfrey's  dream  of  Paradise — inter- 
polations which  Tasso's  weakening  poetic  power  had 
no  longer  strength  to  fuse  with  the  work  of  his  earlier 


THE    ''JERUSALEM    CONQUERED."  85 

days  into  a  harmonious  whole ;  the  third,  the  omission  of 
almost  every  complimentary  reference  to  the  house  of 
Este.  The  young  hero,  Einaldo  of  Este,  is  replaced  by 
Eiccardo;  Sophronia  and  Olindo  disappear,  and  the 
dedication  to  the  "  magnanimous  Alphonso  "  is  replaced 
by  one  to  the  nephew  of  the  new  Pope,  Clement  VIIL, 
which  includes  a  panegyric  on  his  uncle.  The  Cardinal 
of  St  George,  as  Cinthio  Aldobrandini  soon  became, 
loved  Tasso's  conversation,  received  him  in  his  own 
palace,  procured  him  apartments  in  the  Vatican,  and 
altogether  well  deserved  this  distinction  at  his  hands. 

The  "Jerusalem"  that  bears  his  name  excited  much 
attention  on  its  first  appearance,  and  found  critics  Avho 
confirmed  Tasso's  fond  belief  in  its  superiority  over  its 
predecessor;  but  the  Italian  people  were  wiser.  ]^ot 
from  it,  but  from  the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered,"  came  the 
stanzas  to  which  the  Venetian  gondolier  loved  to  time 
his  oar,  or  the  litanies  w^hich  even  convicts  were  heard 
singing.  The  poem  of  Tasso's  youth  flourishes  with 
undying  popularity;  the  soberer  production  of  his  de- 
clining years  finds  seldom  a  curious  reader  to  disturb 
the  dust  which  has  gathered  on  it. 

It  was,  though  late,  not  its  author's  latest  effort. 
Conversing  with  jManso's  mother,  the  pious  Lady  Vic- 
toria, at  j^aples,  Tasso  lent  a  ready  ear  to  her  counsel  to 
undertake  a  poem  on  the  subject  of  the  Creation;  and 
left  it  at  his  death,  wanting  indeed  in  the  last  finishing 
touches,  but  still  in  the  main  complete. 

Meantime,  evidences  of  Tasso's  widespread  fame  kept 
reaching  him  from  the  most  unexpected  quarters.  Sciarra, 
a  noted  leader  of  the  bandits  who  infested  the  road  from 
]S'aples  to  Eome,  sent  him  word,  as  he  went  on  his  way 


86  TASSO. 

to  the  latter  city,  that  he  would  gladly  give  him  an 
escort  and  any  other  favour  he  might  desire ;  and  when 
these  offers  were  declined,  moved  away  to  leave  a  safe 
passage  for  the  great  poet.  The  citizens  of  Capua  reg- 
istered his  brief  stay  in  their  town,  and  promise  of  a 
longer  visit,  in  theu'  archives  as  a  lasting  honour.  Only 
one  Italian  breast  remained  closed  to  the  charm  exer- 
cised everywhere  else  by  Tasso's  genius  and  misfortunes. 
Duke  Alphonso,  though  entreated  by  Tasso  more  than 
once  in  his  closing  years  for  some  token  of  reconcilia- 
tion, and  for  permission  to  see  his  face  once  more,  re- 
mained implacably  dumb. 

Other  old  patrons  were  removed  by  death.  Cardinal 
Scipio  Gonzaga  did  not  see  the  poem,  with  which  he  had 
taken  such  pains  in  past  years,  reapjDear  in  its  altered 
shape ;  for  he  preceded  Tasso  to  the  tomb  by  more  than 
two  years.  Tasso's  intention  of  honouring  his  memory 
both  in  verse  and  prose,  is  expressed  in  a  letter  of  his  to 
the  faithful  Costantini,  in  acknowledgment  of  a  sonnet 
by  the  latter  on  the  poet's  portrait,  in  which  he  says 
that  he  was  embellished  past  his  own  recognition.  And 
then  he  adds  these  touching  words  :  "I  was  much  better 
pleased  with  your  delineation  of  my  misfortunes  than  of 
my  virtues ;  because,  of  these  you  have  said  much  more 
than  you  ought,  of  those  much  less  than  you  might  have 
done."     Costantini's  sonnet  is  as  folloAvs  : — 

'■  Friends,  this  is  Tasso,  Bernard's  son  ;  who  nought 
For  mortal  offspring  cared,  but  gave  to  light 
Children  more  glorious  than  the  sun  to  sight, 
Through  art,  through  style,  high  genius,  and  deep  thought. 

In  poverty  and  in  long  exile  taught, 

In  school,  in  temple,  and  in  palace  bright 


PROPOSED    COPtOXATIOX    AT    THE    CAPITOL.         87 

He  lived  ;  then  through  wild  lone  woods  took  his  flight, 

Found  land  and  sea  with  pain  and  peril  fraught. 
At  death's  own  gate  he  knocked,  yet  death  subdued 

By  forceful  prose  and  by  yet  mightier  song, — 

Death,  but  not  Fortune,  enemy  unkind. 
His  sole  reward,  for  love  and  arms  sung  long, 

And  Truth  revealed,  destroyer  of  sin's  brood, 

Is  the  green  laurel  in  his  hair  entwined." 

Two  lines  in  it  Tasso  changed — the  eleventh  and  four- 
teenth; making  the  eleventh  assert  that  Fortune  had 
succeeded  in  dragging  him  down  to  the  lowest  depths, 
and  the  fourteenth,  that  the  world  thought  even  liis 
barren  crown  too  much  for  him. 

Such  as  it  was,  however,  his  Aldobrandini  patrons 
felt  a  desire  to  place  it  on  his  head,  not  merely  meta- 
phorically but  literally.  Petrarch  had  been  crowned 
with  laurel  at  the  Capitol ;  and  though  the  wreath  had 
rested  since  his  time  on  less  worthy  heads,  yet  it  still 
seemed  the  highest  honour  that  could  be  offered  to  a 
poet.  The  Cardinal  of  St  George,  anxious  to  tempt 
Tasso  back  from  l^aples,  solicited  it  for  him  from  his 
uncle  the  Pope,  and  summoned  him  to  Pome,  in  the 
jS'ovember  of  1594,  to  receive  it. 

He  entered  the  city  in  a  sort  of  triumph,  escorted  by 
the  servants  of  the  two  cardinals  Aldobrandini.  Led  by 
them  into  Clement's  presence,  he  heard,  from  wdiat  were 
to  him  the  most  august  lips  in  Christendom,  the  flatter- 
ing words  :  "  AVe  have  destined  for  you  the  laurel  crown, 
that  it  may  receive  as  much  honour  from  you  as,  in  times 
past,  it  has  conferred  on  others."  And  soon  afterwards, 
if  not  wealth,  yet  competence,  was  placed  within  his 
reach.    The  Pope  assigned  him  an  annual  pension  of  one 


88  TASSO. 

hundred  ducats ;  and  the  lawsuit  at  jSTaples  was  ended 
by  a  compromise,  by  which  the  Prince  of  Avellino  (into 
whose  hands  the  goods  claimed  by  Tasso  had  come)  bound 
himself  to  allow  him  two  hundred  a-year  for  life. 

r>ut  the  eyes  before  wdiich  these  pleasant  prospects 
opened  were  about  to  be  closed  by  death.  Some  time 
before  Tasso's  malady  had  made  him  "  lose  all  hope  in 
human  aid,  and  j)lace  it  in  the  divine  help  alone ; "  and 
say  of  a  piece  of  news,  "It  has  pleased,  not  gladdened  me, 
for  my  desperate  state  of  health  admits  not  of  any  glad- 
ness." And  shortly  after  1595  began,  it  became  doubtful 
whether  the  coronation,  deferred  first  by  the  bad  weather 
and  then  by  the  cardinal's  illness,  could  take  place,  owing 
to  the  poet's  groAving  weakness ;  while  it  was  but  too 
evident  that  of  the  pensions  promised  him  in  the  Feb- 
ruary, he  could  live  to  receive  but  few  instalments.  Tlie 
old  saying,  "What  thou  desirest  in  youth,  in  age  shalt 
thou  plentifully  obtain,"  came  sadly  true  iii  poor  Tasso's 
case.  In  the  premature  old  age  which  had  overtaken  him, 
— through  the  fast  gathering  twilight, — the  long-wished- 
for  independence,  the  early  coveted  honour,  drew  near  in 
vain  to  the  sick  man's  couch :  the  appetite  had  vanished 
ere  the  feast  was  prepared.  A  complimentary  sonnet 
on  his  approaching  coronation,  by  his  cousm  Hercules 
Tasso,  was  recited  to  him,  and  he  answered  by  Seneca's 
"  Magnifica  verba  mors  prope  admota  excutit." 

The  three  first  months  of  the  year  passed  in  increasing 
weakness.  On  the  1st  of  April  came  the  summons  :  and 
Tasso,  presaging  his  end,  requested  to  be  taken  to  that 
monastery  of  St  Onofrio  on  the  Janiculum  which  the 
traveller  still  visits,  not  only  for  the  fine  view  of  Eome 
which  it  commands,  but  because  there  Tasso's  long  sor- 


LAST    DAYS    AT    SANT'    OXOFRIO.  89 

rows  found  their  close.  The  fathers,  seeing  Cardinal 
Cintliio's  coach  making  its  way  np  the  steep  ascent  on 
a  wet  and  windy  day,  went  forth  to  do  honour  to  the 
visitor  who  came  to  them  so  recommended ;  and  Tasso, 
alighting  with  difficulty,  said  to  the  prior  that  he  had 
come  there  to  die  among  them.  On  a  few  warm  spring 
days  yet  he  sat  in  the  convent  garden  under  the  oak, 
the  offshoot  from  which  still  bears  his  name ;  and  heard 
INIass  in  the  church,  where  his  eye  may  have  rested  with 
pleasure  on  Peruzzi's  and  Pinturicchio's  frescoes.  Then 
the  corridor  near  his  room,  with  its  beautiful  Virgin  and 
Child  by  Leonardo  da  Yinci,  became  too  long  a  walk  for 
his  enfeebled  strength;  and  he  laid  him  down  to  die. 
Lut,  before  he  did  so,  he  indited  one  last  letter, — not  to 
prince  or  princess,  reliance  on  whose  favour  had  been  the 
capital  mistake  of  his  life, — but  to  his  faithful  friend 
Costantini.      It  runs  thus  : — 

"What  will  my  Signer  Antonio  say  when  he  hears  of  his 
Tasso's  death  ?  And  in  my  opinion  the  news  will  not  be 
long  in  coming,  for  I  feel  that  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  life, 
no  remedy  having  been  found  for  this  my  troublesome  dis- 
ease, added  to  my  many  other  accustomed  ones  ;  by  which, 
like  a  rapid  torrent  without  anything  to  retain  me,  I  clearly  see 
myself  being  carried  away.  It  is  no  longer  the  time  to  com- 
plain of  my  obstinate  evil  fortune,  not  to  say  of  the  world's 
ingratitude,  which  has  resolved  to  have  the  triumph  of  lead- 
ing me  as  a  beggar  ^  to  my  grave  ;  when  I  had  thought  that 
the  glory  which  (whoever  may  wish  the  contrary)  this  century 
will  gain  from  my  -^Titings,  would  never  have  left  me  thus 
wholly  unguerdoned.  I  have  had  myself  transported  to  this 
monastery  of  St  Onofrio — not  only  because  the  physicians 


1  He  was  dying  "before  he  could  receive  the  promised  pensions  ;  and 
they  "were  but  small. 


90  TASSO. 

praise  its  air  more  than  that  of  any  other  part  of  Eome,  but 
that  I  may,  as  it  were,  begin  from  this  eminent  place,  and 
in  converse  with  these  devout  fathers,  to  have  my  conversa- 
tion in  heaven.  Pray  to  God  for  me  ;  and  be  sure  that,  as 
I  have  ever  loved  and  honoured  you  in  this  present  life,  so 
in  that  other  and  truer  one  will  I  do  for  you  all  that  apper- 
tains to  charity,  not  feigned  but  real.  And  to  the  divine 
grace  I  recommend  you  and  myself." 

It  was  on  the  17th  of  April  (the  month  intended  for 
his  coronation)  that  Tasso  heard  from  the  Pope's  own 
physician  that  there  was  no  hope  of  his  recovery.  He 
thanked  him  with  an  embrace  for  such  welcome  news, 
and  "  gave  humble  thanks  to  God  for  guiding  him  into 
port  after  such  long  tempest."  Thenceforward,  we  are 
told,  no  eartlily  thing  seemed  to  interest  liim.  He  be- 
queathed a  few  tokens  to  his  friends,  his  body  to  the 
convent  church,  his  slender  property  and  his  waitings 
to  his  patron  the  cardinal.  A  week  later  he  received 
the  last  sacraments — exclaiming,  as  the  prior  entered 
his  chamber  with  the  viaticum,  "  expectans  expectavi 
Dominum."  The  Pope,  "  sighing  and  groaning  over  the 
loss  of  such  a  man,"  sent  him  his  plenary  indulgence ; 
and  he  exclaimed,  as  he  received  it  from  the  cardinal, 
that  this  was  "the  chariot  in  which  he  hoped  to  go 
crowned,  not  with  laurel  as  a  poet  to  the  Capitol,  but 
with  glory  as  one  of  tlie  blest  to  heaven."  He  then 
extracted  a  promise  from  his  patron  to  collect  all  the 
copies  of  his  works, — considered  by  him  as  imperfect  and 
his  revision  of  the  "  Jerusalem  "  unsatisfactory, — and  com- 
mit them  to  the  flames ;  and,  thanking  him,  asked  to  be 
left  alone  with  his  crucifix,  his  confessor,  and  one  or  two 
pious  monks.     "They,"  says  Manso,  "chanted  psalms 


DEATH.  01 

by  turns,  Torquato  sometimes  joining,  and  at  others 
turning  to  devout  discourse  with  his  loving  Eedeemer. 
So  he  spent  all  the  night  and  the  morning  of  the  follow- 
ing day,  the  25th  of  April,  dedicated  to  St  Mark  the 
Evangelist,  when,  feeling  his  spirit  departing,  closely 
embracing  his  crucifix,  he  began  to  proffer  these  words, 
In  manus  tuas,  Dominc  ;  but,  not  being  able  completely 
to  finish  them,  near  mid-day  he  ended  the  brief  but 
glorious  course  of  his  mortal  life,  to  recommence,  as  Ave 
may  hope,  the  other  immortal  one  of  eternal  glory  in  the 
heavenly  Jerusalem." 

There  was  loud  lamentation  in  Rome  over  the  gix*at 
poet's  premature  death  on  the  very  eve  of  his  triumph. 
His  corpse  Avas  carried,  by  order  of  his  patron, — dressed 
in  an  antique  toga,  and  with  its  paUid  broAv  at  last  en- 
circled by  the  Avreath  of  laurel, — amid  kindled  tapers 
Avith  magnificent  funeral  pomp,  doAvn  from  the  Janiculuni 
to  St  Peter's.  Xumbers  accompanied  the  procession; 
multitudes  came  croAvding  to  meet  it,  and  look  once  again 
upon  the  face  of  the  dead ;  painters  stooped  over  it  try- 
ing to  engrave  its  features  on  their  memory ;  all  men  felt 
and  bewailed  the  general  loss.  Then  the  bier  returned 
by  the  Avay  along  which  it  had  come ;  and  that  self-same 
night  the  wanderer's  feet  rested,  according  to  his  desire, 
beneath  the  pavement  of  St  Onofrio's  Church. 

Yet  more  solemn  obsequies  were  designed  for  him  by 
the  cardinal,  funeral  orations  and  elegies  prepared  for 
the  occasion,  and  a  splendid  monument  Avas  projected. 
But  other  cares  distracting  Cinthio,  those  plans  were  not 
carried  out;  and  for  years  a  simple  inscription  on  the 
slab  that  covered  it  was  the  only  mark  of  Tasso's  grave. 
At   length  Cardinal   Bevilacqua,    a   native  of   Ferrara, 


92  TASSO. 

placed  the  poet's  bust,  with  a  laudation  in  Latin,  on  the 
wall  above  it;  while,  in  our  own  day,  the  adjoining 
chapel  of  St  Jerome  has  been  decorated,  and  a  costly 
monument  erected  in  it  to  his  memory. 

Tasso's  personal  appearance  has  been  minutely  de- 
scribed by  Manso,  who  says  that  he  was  tall  and  well- 
j)roportioned,  active,  a  good  horseman,  and  a  good  fencer: 
so  good,  as  his  victory  over  his  intended  assassins  showed, 
that  it  was  a  saying  at  Ferrara  that, 

"  With  the  sword  and  with  the  pen 
Torquato  beats  all  other  men." 

His  broad  forehead  Avas  high,  inclining  to  baldness ;  his 
thin  hair  lighter  than  that  of  most  Italians ;  his  large 
dark-blue  eyes  were  set  far  apart,  and  had  black  arched 
eyebrows.  His  nose  was  aquiline ;  his  mouth  wide  and 
rather  thin-lipped ;  his  chestnut-coloured  beard  was  thick. 
Altogether,  his  face  attracted  the  eyes  of  strangers  by  its 
manly  beauty,  while  its  majestic  look  gained  their  rever- 
ence. His  voice  was  clear  and  sonorous ;  but  he  had  a 
slight  impediment  in  his  s^^eech,  and  a  trick  of  repeating 
the  last  words  in  a  sentence. 

It  is  on  the  endowments  of  his  hero's  mind,  however, 
that  Manso  expatiates  most  fondly.  Beginning  with  the 
singular  gravity  and  docility  which  marked  his  infancy  as 
that  of  a  philosopher,  the  premature  wisdom  of  his  earliest 
words,  and  his  unremitting  apj^lication  to  study  from  the 
tender  age  of  three  years  onwards — he  goes  on  to  praise 
his  use  of  the  abundant  stores  of  knowledge  so  acquired ; 
the  variety  and  depth  of  learning  manifested  in  his  dia- 
logues, whether  on  economics,  politics,  or  ethics,  and  his 
skill  in  logic ;  to  which  he  might  well  have  added  a  longer 


WIDE    EANGE    OF    HIS    POETIC    POWERS.  03 

eulogiuni  on  the  force  of  his  rhetoric,  which  is  remark- 
able,— Tasso,  like  our  own  ^lilton,  having  been  not  only 
the  greatest  poet,  but  the  best  and  most  eloquent  prose 
Avriter  of  his  day. 

His   poetic   fame  rests   on  even  a  wider  base,   and 
mounts  to  a  yet  loftier  elevation.     Manso  claims  for  it 
the  distinction  of  excellence  in  the  three  separate  de- 
partments of  epic,   lyric,  and  dramatic  verse;  and  the 
impartial  judge,  no  doubt  with  some  abatements,  must 
allow  the  claim.     Tasso's  pastoral,  indeed,  rather  owes 
its  beauty  to  good  narrative  blank  verse,  and  to  sweet 
lyrics,  than  to  any  exhibition  of  dramatic   power,   of 
which  his  tragedy  displays  still  less.     When  Manso  says 
that  in  his  madrigals  he  surpasses  Martial,  and  in  his 
odes  Pindar,  he  is  comparing  things  wholly  unlilvc ;  and 
a  sober  estimate  of  Tasso's  sonnets  and  odes  must  place 
them  lower  than  Petrarch's,  and,  though  finding  much 
in  them  to  praise,  still  regret  the  conceits  by  which  they 
are  often  deformed.     Of  the  great  epic  which  has  spread 
Tasso's  renown  throughout  the  civilised  world  we  must 
speak  in  the  next  chapter ;  suffice  it  here  to  say,  that 
when  Manso  lauds  it  for  its  strict  adherence  to  the  rules 
of  the  ancient  critics,  for  its  unity  of  design  with  its 
well-ordered   unfolding,    and    for   its    dignity   alilce   of 
thought  and  of  sonorous  verse,  he  only  names  some  of 
its  merits. 

Judging  from  Manso's  description,  we  may  believe 
Tasso  to  have  been  a  delightfid  companion  when  he  met 
with  a  congenial  spirit.  In  general  society  he  was  often 
silent  and  abstracted ;  and  those  who  roused  him  from 
his  reverie  were  sometimes  more  startled  than  pleased  by 
the  pungent  wit  at  his  command.     A  Greek  once  re- 


94  TASSO 

proved  him  for  speaking  ill  of  Ms  country  in  the  "  Jer- 
usalem Delivered,"  and  said  that  his  censure  was  unjust, 
smce  all  the  virtues  came  from  Greece.  "  Indeed  they 
did,"  was  the  reply,  "not  leaving  one  behind  them." 
But,  more  generally,  his  brief  utterances  took  the  form 
of  moral  apothegms;  as  when  hearing  an  avaricious  noble- 
man, who  had  been  listening  to  praise  of  Cardinal  Mon- 
talto's  liberality,  say  that  Montalto  could  afford  to  be 
liberal,  since  he  only  held  his  property  for  his  life,  Tasso 
rejoined :'  "  And  you,  my  lord,  for  how  many  lives  do 
you  possess  yours  1 " 

There  is  political  wisdom  in  Tasso's  advice  to  his 
young  friends,  the  Cardinals  Aldobrandini,  wiien  they 
talked  of  throwing  Pasquin's  statue  into  the  Tiber, 
in  order  to  put  an  end  to  the  obnoxious  pasquinades 
constantly  fastened  to  it  by  night :  "  ]^o,  for  heaven's 
sake,  lest  from  his  dust  the  river  breed  frogs  innumer- 
able, to  croak  both  night  and  day."  It  is  never  wise  to 
close  a  safety-valve.  And  he  is  said  to  have  told  their 
uncle  the  Pope,  that  if  he  wished  statues  to  say  no  evil, 
he  must  make  the  men  to  whom  he  intrusted  office 
govern  well. 

Some  of  Manso's  anecdotes  show  us  the  poet  talk- 
insc  about  his  own  works  to  his  friends.  On  Tasso 
expressing  himself  much  pleased  with  Guarini's  "Pas- 
tor Pido,"  which  had  been  read  aloud  in  his  presence, 
Manso  slyly  suggested  that  very  lilvcly  what  gaA^e 
him  pleasure  was  the  part  of  the  poem  which  he  recog- 
nised as  his  own.  "  Not  so,"  was  the  reply ;  "  it  is 
never  pleasing  to  see  one's  goods  in  the  hands  of  another." 
Once  some  gentlemen  discussed  in  Tasso's  presence  the 
comparative  excellence  of  various  highly  admired  stanzas 


MANSO'S    ANECDOTES.  95 

in  his  "  Jerusalem," — Salvator  Pasqualoni  giving  at  last, 
^vitll  Tasso's  assent,  the  palm  to  that  which,  commencing 
with  the  words  "  Giunto  alia  tomba,"  depicts  Tancred  at 
Clorinda's  grave.  A  silly  bystander,  who  had  felt  unable 
to  enter  into  the  question,  desirous  to  say  something, 
thereupon  asked  the  poet  which  he  thought  the  finest 
line  in  Petrarch;  and  perhaps  did  not  know  why  the 
company  smiled  when  Tasso  gravely  answered,  "This 
one,  in  my  present  judgment — 

" '  Infinita  e  la  schiera  degli  sciocchi.' "  ^ 

Other  stories  exhibit  Tasso  taking  revenge  on  his  ene- 
mies, the  doctors.  Once  he  refused  a  quack  medicine, 
saying,  that  of  many  remedies  which  he  had  taken,  many 
had  harmed,  none  profited  him.  "  ^Vhy  do  you  speak 
amiss  of  mine,  not  having  tried  it  1 "  said  the  man.  "  If  I 
had  tried  it,"  replied  Torquato,  "  I  doubt  I  should  not 
be  here  to  speak  amiss  of  it."  Some  one  asked  him  once 
why  it  Avas  the  custom  at  Macerata,  when  men  took  there 
the  degree  of  doctors  of  medicine,  to  put  on  them  the 
two  gold  spurs  of  knighthood.  He  answered,  "That 
mth  the  one  they  may  make  war  on  the  diseases,  with 
the  other  on  the  life,  of  the  diseased."  Having,  how- 
ever, on  one  occasion  exercised  the  art  himself,  and  sug- 
gested a  method  of  cure  to  a  young  doctor,  which  proved 
successful  with  Manso's  aged  relative,  the  Marquis  of 
Sant'  Agata,  some  blamed  the  youthful  physician,  who 
had  ventured  on  a  new  remedy  with  a  person  of  such 
quality  without  consulting  his  seniors.  Tasso  exclaimed 
in  his  defence,  "If  science  resided  in  the  beard,  we 
might  employ  he-goats  to  doctor  us." 

1  "  Of  fools  the  mighty  host  is  infinite." 


96  TASSO. 

More  than  one  of  Manso's  anecdotes  illustrate  his  hero's 
personal  courage.  When  riding  towards  Eome,  some  of 
the  advanced  guard  of  his  little  j)arty  galloped  back, 
crying  out  to  him  that  the  bandits  were  near.  "  Fear 
nothing,"  said  Torquato,  in  the  words  of  Leonidas,  "  we 
also  are  near  them."  A  storm  was  agitating  the  usually 
calm  waters  of  the  Bay  of  JN'aples,  when  Manso's  brother- 
in-law,  surveying  it  with  Tasso  from  an  arcade  in  the 
most  elevated  portion  of  the  Marquis's  garden,  exclaimed, 
"How  bold  men  are  who  risk  their  lives  where  so  many 
perish  daily  ! "  "  You  may  say  the  same  thing  of  our 
beds,"  replied  Tasso  ;  "  death  can  reach  us  anywhere." 

Two  other  speeches  I'ecorded  by  IVIanso  are  worth 
remembering, — the  first  as  a  sign  of  the  poet's  modesty, 
the  second  of  his  dignity.  Cardinal  Mondovi  expressed 
his  surprise  to  him  that  a  man  whose  poem  had  made  him 
glorious  throughout  the  world,  had  only  felt  the  sharj) 
tooth  of  envy  in  one  court  (Ferrara),  and  from  one  acad- 
emy (Florence).  "  Lightning  seldom  strikes  low  houses," 
answered  Tasso.  "  liather,"  rejoined  the  courtly  prelate, 
"  the  brighter  and  swifter  the  flame,  the  less  the  smoke  ; 
and  so  a  sudden  glory  like  yours  gives  small  space  for 
envy."  But  when,  visiting  a  churchman  of  different 
manners  to  congratulate  him  on  his  elevation  to  an  arch- 
bishopric, Torquato  found  himself  coldly  and  haughtily 
received,  he  speedily  took  his  leave,  with  the  words : 
"  Monsignor,  I  rejoice  at  the  dignity  which  you  have 
obtained,  but  I  condole  with  myself  for  having  lost  a 
friend." 

Manso's  last  anecdotes  are  pathetic.  He  tells  us  that 
when  Tasso  took  his  final  departure  from  liis  house,  he 
bade  his  kind  mother  farewell  with  the  words,  that  ho 


EEPARTEES    OX    HIS    SUPPOSED    MADNESS.        97 

ouglit  not  to  thank  her  for  all  her  honours  and  caresses, 
since  their  chief  effect  now  was  to  make  death  seem  more 
to  be  regretted.  When  he  saw  Cardinal  Cinthio  and  his 
friends  leave  his  death-chamloer  in  tears,  on  the  other 
hand  Torqnato  said  to  them  cheerfully,  "  You  think  you 
are  leaving  me  behind,  but  I  shall  go  before  you."  "  Why 
keep  you  your  eyes  closed,  Signor  Torquato  1 "  asked  an 
indiscreet  watcher  by  his  bed.  "  To  use  them  to  stay 
shut,"  replied  the  dying  man.  IN'ot  long  before,  he  had 
expressed  it  as  his  deliberate  judgment,  that  "  if  there 
were  no  death,  nothing  in  the  world  would  be  more  un- 
happy than  man;  since  men  being  appointed  different 
stations,  and  no  man  being  contented  with  his  own  (as 
are  the  brutes  deprived  of  intellect,  or  the  angels  who  are 
pure  intelligence),  it  would  necessarily  follow  that  they 
must  live  in  continual  war  and  infelicity,  from  which 
death  alone  can  deliver  them,  besides  opening  to  them 
the  road  to  eternal  blessedness." 

Three  of  Manso's  anecdotes  bear  on  the  question  of 
Tasso's  supposed  madness.  He  had  been  discoursing  long 
and  learnedly,  when  he  overheard  some  of  the  company 
whisper,  "  How  could  such  a  man  have  ever  been  taken 
for  a  lunatic  1 "  "  l^o  marvel,  gentlemen,"  answered  he, 
with  a  smile,  "  for  in  Seneca's  judgment  a  man  should 
either  be  born  into  this  world  a  king  or  a  madman  ;  and 
I,  having  no  opportunity  of  proving  myself  in  the  first 
state,  wished  at  least  to  try  if  I  could  succeed  in  the 
second."  Equally  good-humoured  was  his  rejomder  to 
a  young  Milanese  cavalier,  decked  with  many  gold 
chains,  who  did  not  whisper  low  enough  his  question, 
"  Is  this  that  great  man  who  was  said  to  be  out  of 
his  mind  ^ "  and  received  the  reply,  "  Yes ;  but  I  never 

F.C. — XVI.  ^ 


98  TASSO. 

required  even  one  chain."  And  alike  good-tempered  and 
sensible  was  the  poet's  defence  of  one  of  his  long  fits  of 
silence,  which  one  of  the  company  thought  a  sign  of  de- 
rangement— "  ^N'o  fool  ever  knew  how  to  hold  his  tongue." 
!N"o  answers  could  be  more  clear-headed  than  these 
three ;  no  better  proofs  of  a  vigorous  intellect  working 
sanely  could  be  given  than  the  compositions,  both  in 
prose  and  verse,  which,  from  early  youth  till  death,  flowed 
from  Tasso's  pen.  Was  then  his  madness  a  pure  fiction, 
invented  by  his  enemies,  and  given  colour  to  at  times  by 
liis  own  policy  in  order  to  disarm  tlieir  malice  1  Learned 
Italian  physicians  of  om'  own  day  have  felt  an  interest 
in  investigating  this  question;  and  their  conclusion 
seems  to  be  that,  at  least  in  the  middle  part  of  his  life, 
Tasso  was  afflicted  by  a  species  of  monomania,  which 
liad  many  perfectly  lucid  intervals,  which  at  no  time 
interfered  with  the  workings  of  his  intellect  in  the  higher 
spheres  of  thought,  but  which  occasioned  the  suspicions, 
the  restlessness,  and  the  hallucinations  under  which  we 
have  marked  his  suff^erings ;  which  was  aggravated  by 
liis  cruel  and  unjust  detention  at  Santa  Anna,  but  from 
which  he  was  j)robably  never  afterwards  entirely,  and 
for  long,  free.  This  may  indeed  have  been  the  case; 
yet  a  few  hypochondriacal  fancies  and  optical  delusions, 
fits  of  deep  dejection  and  occasionally  of  frenzied  rage, 
seem  only  natural  results,  in  an  excitable  temperament 
and  a  morbidly  sensitive  disposition,  of  Tasso's  sudden 
and  terrible  reverse  of  fortune,  of  his  mostly  solitary 
imprisonment,  and  of  the  horror  of  being  surrounded  by, 
and  treated  as,  the  mad.  The  mind  which  was  not 
wholly  overset  by  such  causes  may  well  seem  to  have 
been  one  of  exceptional  soundness. 


HIS    MELANCHOLY.  99 

Plu'ase  it  as  we  like,  however,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  Tasso's  brilliant  and  unique  talents  were  hindered 
from  bringing  happiness  to  their  possessor  by  a  most 
irritable  nervous  organisation,  and  by  the  want  of  calm 
judgment.  His  evidently  constitutional  predisposition 
to  melancholy  was  aggTavated  by  his  beautiful  mother's 
early  death,  by  his  father's  exile  and  misfortunes, — in 
all  probability  also  by  his  own  love  placed  too  high  to  be 
happy,  and  by  his  consequent  exclusion  from  those  do- 
mestic joys  at  which  we  at  times  find  him  casting  a 
regretful  glance ;  by  his  experience  of  human  malignity, 
by  his  religious  doubts,  and  by  the  cruel  treatment 
which  he  met  witk  And  who  can  wonder  that,  after 
his  resurrection  from  the  ghastly  sepulchre  which  en- 
tombed his  manhood  at  its  perfection,  and  his  fame  at 
its  height,  he  shunned  the  crowds  who  misjudged  him, 
loved  little  the  life  which  had  disappointed  him,  and 
turned  more  steadfastly  than  in  youth  to  the  only  hope 
which  does  not  sln?ink  in  size  before  sickness  and  ad- 
vancing death ! 

It  remams  to  say  a  word  on  Tasso's  moral  character, 
which  appeared  in  his  later  years  to  the  young  Manso 
one  of  almost  ideal  perfection.  The  perfect  purity  of 
his  life,  from  the  day  when  he  entered  his  prison  to  its 
end,  was,  in  Italy  and  in  those  days,  an  amazement  to  his 
contemporaries;  as  was  his  resolute  discouragement  of 
all  miseemly  conversation  or  writings.  That  his  life  at 
Ferrara,  amid  aU  the  temptations  of  that  Court,  would 
show  white,  if  placed  beside  that  of  his  patrons  and  his 
rivals,  there  is  no  reasonable  doubt.  That  it  was  wholly 
blameless  it  seems  too  much  to  affirm ;  especially  when 
we  consider  the  sonnet,  erroneously  supposed  by  Eosini 


100  TASSO. 

to  have  convinced  Alphonso  of  Tasso's  guilty  passion  for 
Leonora ;  ^  but  wliicli  must  have  been  intended  for  an- 
other lady,  possibly  Ginevra  Marzo.  All  we  can  say 
is,  that  probably  no  Italian  gentleman  of  the  sixteenth 
century  had  so  few  youthful  transgressions  to  look  back 
on  as  Tasso ;  or  repented  of  them  more  sincerely. 

Again,  in  an  age  of  prevalent  deceit  and  dissimulation, 
Tasso  was  in  the  main  truthfid  and  outspoken.  Manso 
attributes  his  frequent  silence  in  mixed  companies  to  his 
fear  of  false  and  uncharitable  words ;  and  we  have  seen 
how  little  he  was  a  match  for  the  craft  and  plotting  of 
Ferrara.  On  the  other  side  must  be  set  his  special 
pleading  in  his  o^vn  defence,  his  adulation  of  princes  in 
prose  and  verse,  and  his  too  frequent  readiness 

"  To  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muses'  flames," 

— which,  whatever  ill-custom  and  the  dependence  of  hter- 
ature  on  the  favour  of  the  great  may  plead  in  its  excuse, 
rigid  morality  must  condemn. 

Above  all,  Tasso  seems  to  have  been  singularly  free 
from  jealousy  and  envy.  His  pride,  somewhat  over- 
weening at  one  part  of  liis  life,  may  hai^e  helped  him  to 
this  by  allowing  him  to  fear  no  rival ;  while  it  doubtless 
wounded  susceptibilities,  and  raised  him  enemies.  But  to 
those  enemies  he  was,  as  we  have  seen,  remarkably  kind 
and  forgiving.  He  not  only  died,  but  lived,  in  charity 
Avith  those  who  had  used  him  so  cruelly ;  and,  in  earlier 
life,  when  urged  to  prevent  their  malice  by  the  usual 
Italian  expedient  of  assassination,  answered,   "Heaven 

1  It  is  not  intended  to  deny  that  Tasso's  enemies  may  have  per- 
suaded Alphons'o  of  this  falsely,  only  it  cannot  be  believed  that 
Torquato  ever  so  insulted  his  pure-minded  Princess. 


HIS    MORALITY    AND    PELIGIOX  IGl 

forbid !  I  would  rather  "bring  those  of  them  who  are 
dead  to  life,  than  slay  those  who  live."  AVhen  advised 
to  use  his  favour  with  Alphonso  to  their  injury,  he  is 
said  to  have  replied,  "  I  should  like  to  take  away  my 
enemies'  ill-will,  not  their  dignities  or  honours." 

Manso  claims  for  his  hero  the  praise  of  a  temperance 
amounting  to  absolute  indifference  to  the  pleasures  of  the 
table,  though  allowing  that  he  loved  good  wine;  of  some 
excess  in  which,  at  one  time,  Tasso's  letters  certainly 
give  ground  of  suspicion.  They  also  abate  something  of 
his  friend's  encomium  on  his  disregard  of  money.  It 
might  have  been  well  had  a  more  prudent  care  of  it  spared 
the  poet  the  shame  (according  to  our  ideas)  of  his  fre- 
quent applications  for  gifts  to  friends  and  patrons. 

But  on  a  fair  survey  of  Tasso's  slight  faults  and  great 
virtues,  the  impartial  reader  begins  to  share  INIanso's 
reverence  for  a  man  who  was  so  much  sinned  against 
and  who  sinned  so  little  himself;  and  is  prepared  to 
receive  the  testimony  of  his  confessor,  who  assured  his 
friend  that,  during  many  of  his  last  years,  his  illustrious 
penitent  had  never  had  to  accuse  himself  of  a  mortal 
sin. 

For  with  the  bright  lights  and  black  shadows  of 
Tasso's  earlier  career,  there  vanished  likewise  the  doubts 
which  had  disturbed  liis  faith ;  and  its  star  rose  clear 
and  friendly  in  the  grey  twilight  which  succeeded  them, 
and  guided  the  wanderer  home.  The  beliefs  which  Tasso 
had  always  professed,  defended,  and  celebrated  in  im- 
mortal verse,  became  the  true  possession  of  his  inmost 
heart,  and  brought  to  perfection  all  his  good  equalities. 
"\Ye  have  seen  him  adoring  the  mystery  of  the  Incarna- 
tion at  Loretto  and  at  Eome ;  let  us  see  him  later  still 


10-2  TASSO. 

at  the  foot  of  the  cross  in  Florence  on  Good  Friday. 
"liTo  longer  love  for  a  fair  maiden,  or  feeling  for  tlm 
beauty  of  nature,  not  the  pain  born  of  vanished  hopes, 
but  the  faith  which  transports  man  amid  the  ineffable 
joys  of  Paradise,  is  there  the  inspiration  of  his  muse."^ 

"  Soul  sick  and  sorrowful, 

Behold  the  trophy  which  adorns 

With  drops  of  blood  thy  King  ! 

Behold  him  languishing 
On  His  high  cross,  wearing  His  crown  of  thorns. 

Ah  !  how  they  wound  him  hear, 

He  who  as  dove  and  spotless  lamb  was  pure. 
Cause  of  His  cross  and  of  His  sepulture. 

To  His  affliction  and  His  groans  give  ear." 

It  was  in  the  contemplation  of  those  divine  sorrows 
that  Tasso  found  relief  from  his  own.  Christ's  prayer 
for  His  enemies,  descending  into  his  heart,  made  it  seem 
to  him  only  natural  to  forgive  those  who  had  wronged 
him.  The  once-coveted  laurel  wreath  ceased  to  attract 
him  as  he  gazed  on  the  more  awful  crown  on  the  head  of 
the  august  Victim.  And  we  have  seen  how  joyfully  he 
obeyed  the  summons  which  called  him,  as  his  pious 
friend  fully  believed,  to  jom  the  ranks  of  the  victorious 
soldiers  of  the  cross,  in  a  better  Jerusalem  than  that 
of  which  he  had  sung  from  youth  to  age. 

1  Cecchi. 


103 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    "JERUSALEM   DELIVERED." 

Tasso's  gi-eat  epic  was  carefully  constracted  in  accord- 
ance ^A^th  the  rules  laid  do.^^l  by  critics  for  such  com- 
positions,   and   modelled    by   its    author    in    generous 
emulation  of  the  masterpieces  of  antiquity.     We  have 
seen  how  much  toil  and  labour  he  expended  upon  it ; 
how  much  more  counsel  from  without  he  sought  and 
accepted,  than  a  Dante  or  a  Milton  would  have  put  up 
with;    and  how  soon  he  became  dissatisfied  with  his 
OA^^l  'work.      The  peaceful    serenity   of   genius   of   the 
hio-hest  class  was  wanting  to  this  largely  gifted  man ; 
and  he  worked  not  calmly  self-reliant,  guided  by  the 
unerring  instinct  wliich  is  the  prerogative  of  such  genius, 
but  with  much  anxious   inquiry   after  precedent,   and 
much  sensitiveness  to  contemporary  opinion. 

His  own  ambition  was  to  f  oUow  Homer  and  Yirgil  close- 
ly,  and  so  produce  a  Christian  "  Hiad  "  which  might  rival 
the  Greek  one.  His  great  predecessor,  Ariosto,  had,  as 
he  thought,  erred  by  the  irregailarity  and  mid  disordered 
beauty  of  his  version  of  the  old  romances ;  and  so  Tasso 
cast  his  own  poem  with  scrupulous  care  into  a  classic 
shape.     Just  as  his  eye,  trained  to  admire  antique  art 


lOi  TASSO. 

in  architecturo  and  statues,  could  not  discern  aright  tlie 
wonders  of  medieval  skill  which  met  it  in  the  Gothic 
churches  of  France,  so  Tasso's  mind,  fascinated  hy  the 
beauty  of  form  in  classic  poetry,  proved  unable  to 
make  a  perfectly  free  use  of  the  noble  insjDirations  of 
the  faith  and  chivalry  of  his  forefathers.  The  "  Jeru- 
salem Delivered"  is  therefore  a  poem  with  a  double 
origin  :  a  stream  which  flows  from  two  sources, — one 
far  away  on  the  hills  of  Greece ;  the  other  that  nearer 
fount  in  the  forest-glades  of  Brittany  which  springs  up 
murmuring  of  Avalon's  island-vale.  The  framework  of 
the  poem  is  Greek ;  its  subject,  episodes,  aud  j)ervading 
sjDirit  breathe  of  Christian  romance ;  and  to  them  it  owes 
its  ever-endaring  charm. 

It  is  easy  to  point  out  how,  regarded  merely  as  an 
imitator  of  Homer,  Tasso  stands  (despite  Voltaire's  judg- 
ment to  the  contrary)  as  imitators  must  do,  on  a  lower 
level  than  his  great  master ;  how  his  Godfrey,  if  wiser 
and  more  diguified  than  Agamemnon,  is  far  from  being 
as  life-like  a  form  as  the  leader  of  the  assembled  Greeks ; 
how  his  Eaymond  of  Toulouse  presents  to  us  no  such  de- 
lightful portraiture  of  the  garridous  wisdom  of  old  age 
as  does  Homer's  Nestor ;  and  how  Rinaldo's  youthful 
petulance  pales  before  the  divine  Tsrrath  of  Achilles. 
Again,  in  some  speeches  and  in  many  of  Tasso's  battle- 
scenes  we  seem  to  be  reading  a  translation  of  well-known 
passages  in  Homer,  and  not  in  Homer  only,  but  in  Yirgil 
or  Lucan ;  and  while  we  admire  the  beauty  of  the  ren- 
dering and  the  skilfulness  of  the  adaptation,  we  feel 
that  only  persons  unacquainted  with  classic  lore  can 
bestow  on  such  passages  the  praise  due  to  original  in- 
vention.   "Where,  too,  the  thmg  imitated  possesses  unique 


THE    poem's    double    ORIGIN.  105 

beauty,  as,  for  instance,  Virgil's  portraiture  of  the 
deserted  and  despairing  Dido,  each  reader  must  think 
Tasso  scarcely  wise  to  provoke  the  comparison;  and 
feel,  as  when  he  sets  beside  the  dying  Tyrian  queen  his 
forsaken  Armida,  who,  unlike  her,  can  survive  both  her 
grief  and  disappointed  revenge,  that  the  old  wine  is 
better  than  the  new. 

But  it  is  otherwise  when  Tasso  surrenders  himself  to 
the  inspirations  which  befit  the  poet  of  the  Cross — the 
fruit  of  the  great  religious  revival  of  the  sixteenth  century 
— and  suffers  them  to  predominate  over  the  stately  but 
cold  regularity  which  he  had  imbibed  from  the  classic 
revival  of  the  fifteentL  It  is  then  that  he  rises  to  the 
height  of  his  noble  subject ;  and  makes  us  feel  the  ideal 
grandeur  of  that  enterprise  in  which  the  chiefs  of  Europe, 
laying  aside  thoughts  of  personal  revenge  or  profit,  united, 
not,  like  Homer's  heroes,  to  chastise  a  lawless  ravisher 
and  recover  a  stolen  beauty,  but  to  clear  the  way  for  Chris- 
tian feet  to  the  sepidchre  of  their  Lord.  A  juster  and 
holier  Euler  than  Zeus  protects  and  guides  His  cham- 
pions ;  no  Iris  or  Hermes,  but  angels  of  light,  bear  His 
behests  below ;  they  are  opposed  by  no  wrathful  Ares 
or  Here,  but  by  the  princes  of  darkness ;  men,  and  even 
women,  contend  nobly  for  the  crown  of  martyrdom :  in 
a  word,  we  have  left  the  Greek  temple,  with  its  limited 
beauty,  for  the  cathedral,  with  its  lofty  arches  and  its 
upsoaring  vault,  suggestive  of  the  infinite. 

Even  more  magical  is  the  effect  on  Tasso's  epic  of 
other  great  and  kindred  ideas  which  have  helped  to 
mould  modern  life.  The  individual  not  absorbed  by 
the  state,  according  to  the  notions  of  antiquity,  but 
standing   forth  in   his  o^\ti   personal   dignity;   woman 


106  TASSO. 

reverenced,  as  our  Teutonic  forefathers,  combined  with 
the  Gospel,  have  taught  Christendom  to  do,  and  exalted 
to  a  fantastic  eminence  by  chivalry ;  the  ideal  of  knightly 
valour  and  honour :  such  are  some  of  the  mines  which 
supply  Tasso's  finest  gold, — a  metal  which  will  be  found 
true  even  if,  with  Boileau,  we  consider  other  portions 
of  his  decorations  to  be  as  tinsel  compared  with  Virgil's 
ore.  JSTot  merely  here  the  skilful  transferrer  of  antique 
legend  to  the  23eriod  of  the  middle  ages,  but  the  originator 
of  new  forms  of  beauty,  Tasso  delights  us  by  singing,  like 
a  true  medieval  romancer,  of  enchanted  forest,  of  brave 
champion  and  fair  damsel :  under  his  heroes'  corselets 
hearts  throb  with  refinements  of  passion  unknown  to  an 
Achilles  or  a  Diomed;  his  enchantress  is  no  soulless 
Circe,  but  can  love  and  be  loved  again ;  her  island-para- 
dise makes  Calypso's  cavern-bower  shrink  into  insignifi- 
cance ;  and  Virgil's  sweet  bud  of  maidenhood,  Camilla, 
expands  to  the  beholder's  delight,  under  Tasso's  hand, 
into  the  peerless  flower,  Clorinda. 

Such  being  the  varied  sources  of  the  idea  of  the 
"  Jerusalem  Delivered,"  we  find  that  its  author  spared 
no  pains  in  order  to  embody  it  exactly.  He  searched 
the  chronicles  of  the  crusades  with  all  diligence  for 
the  outlines  of  the  story  that  he  was  to  embellish ; 
he  collected  such  exact  topographical  information  that 
the  errors  in  his  descriptions  of  the  scenes  of  his  great 
conflicts  are  few  and  unimportant;  his  own  skill  as  a 
swordsman  and  his  intimacy  mth  military  men  enabled 
him  to  depict  his  battles  and  single  combats  vividly, — 
correctly  also,  allowing  for  intentional  exaggerations. 

With  yet  more  anxious  care,  we  find  Tasso  polishing 
the  octaves  in  which,  after  Boiardo  and  Ariosto's  ex- 


ITS    ELABORATE    VERSIFICATION,  107 

ample,  he  composed  his  poem ;  and  striving  by  striking 
antithesis  and  happy  turns  of  expression  to  charm  his 
readers'  minds,  while  he  courted  their  ear  by  studied 
alliteration,  by  harmonious  verse,  and  by  discords  intro- 
duced occasional!}^,  lest  his  sweetness  might  prove  cloy- 
ing. The  labour  is  at  times  too  obvious,  the  composition 
too  artificial,  the  studied  antithesis  too  cold  for  genuine 
passion  :  and  as  the  criticism  which  passes  for  Galileo's 
affirms,  here  and  there  Tasso's  carefully  turned  lines  join 
like  the  cold  bright  fragments  of  a  mosaic,  instead  of 
blending  like  the  rich  colours  of  a  great  artist.  Con- 
ceits, as  they  were  called,  were  the  besetting  sin  of  his 
age,  and  Tasso  did  not  always  rise  above  them.  But 
he  was  right  in  his  determination  to  express  everything 
in  the  best  way  within  his  power ;  and  his  having  done 
so  is  one  great  cause  of  his  work's  immortality.  How 
great  was  the  labour  so  employed  Ave  may  conjecture  from 
the  letter  in  which  Tasso  says  that  he  had  wearied  himself 
for  a  whole  evening,  and  made  a  hundred  changes  in  the 
two  lines  which  describe  how  Tancred  rallied  his  failing 
powers  to  baptise  the  dying  Clorinda,  without  being  able 
to  satisfy  himself.  They  owe  their  present  beautiful  form 
to  the  advice  of  his  correspondent,  Scipio  Gonzaga : 

"  Non  mori  gia  ;  che  sue  virtuti  accolse 
Tutte  in  quel  punto,  e  in  guardia  al  cor  le  mise." 

Sometimes  the  right  shape  was  revealed  to  him  by  a 
sudden  accident,  as  when,  having  long  toiled  vainly  to 
paint  Herminia  dismounting  in  haste  to  aid  the  bleeding 
Tancred,  he  saw  a  young  man  thrown  from  his  horse  in 
one  of  the  streets  in  Eome,  and  straightway  produced 
the  admired  line — 

"  Non  scese,  no,  precipito  di  sella." 


108  TASSO. 

And,  after  all,  the  poem  was  given  to  the  world  in 
what  its  author  considered  an  unfinished  state,  and  he 
would  gladly  have  bestowed  yet  more  time  in  perfect- 
ing and  polishing  it.  The  fate  which  snatched  it  from 
his  hand,  however,  served  him  well,  as  did  the  instinct 
by  which  his  countrymen  rejected  his  after  alterations. 
The  "Jerusalem  Delivered"  stands,  and  will  stand, 
an  imperishable  monument ;  resting  indeed  on  antique 
marble  columns  brought  from  older  edifices,  but  adorned 
by  the  fair  devices,  the  exquisitely  blended  colours,  of 
fresh  and  original  insj^iration. 

It  is  not  a  poem  of  the  first  order.  It  does  not  rank 
with  the  "  Eiad "  or  the  "  Divine  Comedy,''  or  even 
with  the  "Eneid"  or  the  "Paradise  Lost."  But  it  is 
one  of  the  greatest  poems  of  the  second  order  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen  ;  and  therefore  it  is  popular  in  a  way 
in  which  only  the  first-named  of  those  greater  works  ever 
could  be.  For  its  merits  are  exactly  of  the  kind  to  strike 
all  readers,  to  give  pleasure  alike  to  those  who  can,  and  to 
those  who  cannot,  fully  appreciate  the  excellences  of  the 
works  of  mightier  genius.  It  calls  its  hearers  to  sound 
no  difficult  abj^sses  of  thought ;  it  demands  no  painful 
study  for  its  comprehension ;  its  beauties  are  not  of  the 
delicate  and  refined  species  which  escape  the  ordinary  eye. 
Easily  taken  in  at  the  first  glance,  its  charms  appeal  suc- 
cessfully to  all  classes  of  readers.  Accordingly,  it  has 
been  translated  into  every  civilised,  or  jmrtly  civilised, 
tongue — not  only  of  Europe,  but  even  the  Turkish,  the 
Arabic,  and  the  Chinese.  In  its  own  land  it  is  a 
national  possession  to  a  degree  which  no  English  poem 
is  in  England  :  for  in  Italy  "  you  meet  Tasso's  creations 
alike  in  the  shepherd's  hut  and  the  rich  man's  palace ; 


JUDGMENT    OF    OTHER    POETS.  109 

and  his  pathetic  and  passionate  song  consoles  the  poor 
mariner  who  rows  smitten  by  the  hot  sim,  and  the 
countryman  who  plies  his  flail  amid  the  chills  of 
winter."  i  It  is  at  once  the  delight  of  prince  and  peasant, 
of  cardinal  and  crondolier. 

o 

Cowley  says  that  a  ^wet  has  a  right  to  he  tried  by  his 
peers.  The  peers  of  Tasso  are  hard  to  find ;  and  if  we 
succeed  in  assembling  our  jury,  we  may  still  distrust 
their  verdict,  since  "great  poets  are"  often  "bad 
critics."  Yet  the  ojDinion  of  our  oa\ti  great  Spenser 
and  greater  Milton  must  carry  weight  with  us.  Imi- 
tation is  the  sincerest  flattery,  and  both  have  imitated 
Tasso.  Spenser  has  gone  beyond  mere  imitation,  and, 
as  we  shall  presently  see,  actually  translated  stanzas  of 
the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered,"  and  incorporated  them, 
without  acknowledgment,  in  his  "  Faery  Queen ;  "  while 
it  is  hard  to  say  how  much  the  first  conception  of  that 
fascinating  poem  owes  to  Tasso's  OAvn  allegoric  interpre- 
tation of  his  epic :  an  after-thought,  in  his  case,  worked 
out  partly  as  an  exercise  of  ingenuity  and  partly  to  dis- 
arm objectors, — although  the  "Enchanted  Forest"  and 
the  tale  of  "  Einaldo  and  Armida "  lend  themselves  as 
readily  to  such  interpretation  as  do  many  parts  of  the 
"  Odyssey." 

If,  leaving  the  judgment  of  Tasso's  contemporaries, 
we  descend  to  later  times,  it  is  impossible  to  avoid 
noticing  Yoltaire's  opinion.  Absurd  as  is  his  prefer- 
ence of  the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered "  to  the  "  Ihad," 
he  was  a  good  judge  of  style,  and  not  ill  qualified  to 
discern  the  peculiar  merits  of  Tasso's  work.  Accord- 
ing to  him,  the  poet  has  treated  his  sublime  subject 

1  Cecchi. 


110  TASSO. 

with  all  the  dignity  which  it  deserves,  —  a  question- 
ahle  statement.  Less  doubtful  is  his  praise  of  Tasso's 
interesting  method  and  masterly  distribution  of  light 
and  shade ;  while  of  his  style  he  says  that  it  is  "  in  all 
parts  equally  clear  and  elegant,  and  that,  when  his  sub- 
ject requires  elevation,  it  is  astonishing  how  Tasso  im- 
presses a  new  character  upon  the  softness  of  the  Italian 
language, — ^how  he  sublimes  it  into  majesty  and  com- 
presses it  into  strength."  ^ 

To  quote  a  later  witness,  and  a  distinguished  country- 
man of  Tasso's  own,  the  poet  Metastasio  tells  us  of 
"  the  strange  emotion  which  the  first  reading  of  the 
'  Jerusalem  Delivered '  produced  in  me.  The  spectacle 
which  it  presents  of  a  great  and  single  action  lucidly 
proposed,  masterly  conducted,  and  perfectly  completed ; 
the  variety  of  events  that  caused  and  enriched  it  with- 
out disturbing  its  imity;  the  magic  of  a  style  always 
clear,  always  sublime,  always  sonorous,  able  to  clothe 
the  meanest  objects  with  its  own  nobility;  the  life- 
like colouring  of  his  comparisons  and  descriptions; 
the  seductive  evidence  with  which  he  relates  and  per- 
suades; the  truth  and  uniformity  of  the  characters; 
the  learning,  the  judgment  shown ;  and,  above  all,  that 
prodigious  force  of  genius  which,  instead  of  exhausting 
itself  as  the  poem  proceeds,  acquires  fresh  strength,  have 
filled  me  with  delight,  respect,  and  admiration." 

Lastly,  the  great  German  who  made  Tasso's  personal 

1  Persons  who  have  read  Dante  more,  and  understood  him  "better, 
than  Voltaire,  will  scarcely  he  "astonished"  at  Tasso's  achieve- 
ments in  this  line.  If  they  wonder  at  all,  it  will  be  tliat  Tasso's  early 
study  and  diligent  annotation  of  the  "  Divina  Commedia"  did  not 
prove  to  him  a  better  protection  against  the  false  taste  of  his  own 
day. 


Goethe's  opixion.  Ill 

troubles  at  Ferrara  the  theme  of  a  justly  celebrated 
play, — which,  though  pervaded  by  the  calm  atmosphere 
of  the  Court  of  Weimar  rather  than  by  that  sultry  and 
electric  one  which  it  was  the  Italian  poet's  lot  to  breathe, 
may  still  be  consulted  with  advantage  by  the  student  of 
liis  life, — has  thus  expressed  his  ovm  estimate  (as  we 
cannot  doubt)  of  liis  hero : — 

"  I  honour  every  man  and  each  man's  merit ; 
To  Tasso  I  am  only  just.     His  eye 
Scarce  rests  upon  this  earth  ;  his  ear  perceives 
The  harmony  of  nature  ;  while  his  breast 
Accepts,  at  once  and  gladly,  every  gift 
Of  history's  records,  or  that  life  bestows  : 
Things  widely  scattered  can  his  mind  collect, 
His  heart  on  lifeless  things  true  life  bestow. 
What  we  thought  common  he  ennobles  oft, 
While  what  we  prized  before  him  turns  to  nought. 
In  such  peculiar  magic  circle  wanders 
The  marvellous  man,  and  makes  us  wander  with  him. 

With  genius  manifold  he  glorifies 
One  single  image  in  his  every  rhyme. 
Now  raises  it  in  glory  and  in  light 
Up  to  the  starry  heavens,  adoring  bows 
Like  angels  in  the  clouds  before  that  form  ; 
And  then  anon  tracks  it  through  peaceful  fields, 
Weaving  each  flower  into  a  wreath  for  it. 
Should  his  adored  depart,  he  consecrates 
That  path  her  beauteous  foot  so  gently  trod  : 
Then  hid  amid  the  leaves,  like  nightingale. 
He  from  a  love-sick  bosom  fills  with  plaint, 
Poured  forth  in  melody,  the  grove  and  air." 

— "  Torquato  Tasso,"  Goethe. 

The  "  Jerusalem  Delivered  "  is  its  author's  memorial 
to  future  ages.      His  odes  and  sonnets,  and  his  other 


112  TASSO. 

poems,  find  tens  of  readers,  while  it  finds  thousands. 
His  "Aniinta,"  ever  charming  as  it  is,  belongs  to  a 
style  of  poetry  no  longer  in  general  favour,  and  has 
"been  eclipsed  by  Guarini's  "  Pastor  Eido  "  as  the  typical 
pastoral  poem.  But  Tasso's  brave  Saracens  and  chivalric 
Christians, — his  Argantes — heroic  supporter  of  a  falling 
cause — his  valiant  and  sorrowful  Tancred,  his  audacious 
Einaldo  and  holy  Godfrey,  his  perilously  delightful  Ar- 
mida,  his  innocent  Herminia,  his  brave  Clorinda,  and  his 
saintly  Sophronia, — are  beautiful  and  immortal  creations 
which  all  hearts  welcome,  all  lands  gladly  naturalise. 

It  was  their  poet's  fate  to  see  nearly  all  his  earthly 
wishes  disappointed :  his  father's  bones  remained  with- 
out their  monument ;  his  mother's  dowry  was  withheld 
from  him  till  it  was  too  late  to  be  of  use ;  his  Prince's 
favour  forsook,  his  high-placed  love  failed,  him ;  his  rest- 
less brain  and  excitable  nerves  destroyed  one  building 
that  he  tried  to  raise  for  his  shelter  after  another ;  the 
well-earned  laurel-crown  only  came  in  time  to  deck  his 
bier.  One  wish  of  his  youth,  and  one  only,  found  fulfil- 
ment,— it  was  that  which  he  expressed  when  he  said, 
"  I  hope  by  labour  and  intense  study,  joined  with  the 
strong  propensity  of  nature,  to  leave  something  to  after- 
times  so  \^aitten  that  they  should  not  willingly  let  it 
die."  And  the  abundant  fulfilment  of  that  wish  Tasso 
owes  to  his  "  Jerusalem  Delivered." 


113 


CHAPTEE    IX. 

THE   ADVANCE    OX   JERUSALEM — SOPHROXIA   AXD    OLIXDO. 

Tasso's  epic  begins,  like  the  "  Iliad,"  near  the  end  of  the 
enterprise  which  is  its  theme.  Tlie  preaching  of  Peter 
the  Hermit  in  Europe,  the  Council  of  Clermont,  the 
assembling  of  the  Crusaders  and  their  first  successes 
in  Asia,  are  supposed  to  be  known  to  the  listeners  ;••■ 
as  the  Greek  bard  reckoned  on  a  knowledge  by  his 
of  the  fleet  gathered  at  Aulis,  and  the  cities  taken  during 
the  nine  years  spent  on  the  windy  plains  round  Troy. 
Xearly  six  years  ^  have  elapsed  since  the  Christian  host 
set  out.  Cdicia  has  been  overrun;  the  cross  waves  on 
the  walls  of  Xica3a  and  of  Antioch  ;  but  as  yet  Jer- 
usalem has  been  unassailed,  and  the  divided  command 
of  the  crusading  army  threatens  to  frustrate  its  princi- 
pal object.  It  is  at  this  critical  moment  that  Tasso 
begins  his  tale  : — 

1  It  was  not  without  much  deliberation  that  Tasso  resolved  on 
wholly  omitting  them .  He  once  proposed  to  assemble  the  Crusaders 
for  Council  in  a  church  decorated  with  pictures,  made  by  Godfrey's 
order,  of  all  these  things.  He  also  thought  of  a  narration  of  the 
capture  of  Nicaea  or  of  Antioch,  and  of  placing  it  in  the  mouth  of 
Herminia,  a  principal  sufferer, — as  Virgil  makes  Eneas  describe  the 
fall  of  Troy  to  Dido.     But  his  Roman  advisers  counselled  otherwise. 

-  So  says  Tasso  :  the  real  time  was  three. 

F.C. — XYI.  H 


114  TASSO. 

1. 
"  The  sacred  armies  and  the  godly  knight 

That  the  great  sepulchre  of  Christ  did  free 
I  sing  ;  much  wrought  his  valour  and  foresight, 

And  in  that  glorious  war  much  suffered  he  : 
In  vain  'gainst  him  did  hell  oppose  her  might, 

In  vain  the  Turks  and  Morians  armed  be  ; 
His  soldiers  wild,  to  brawls  and  mutines  pre?t. 
Reduced  he  to  peace  ;  so  heaven  him  blest. 

2. 
O  heavenly  Muse,  that  not  with  fading  bays 

Deckest  thy  brow  by  tli'  Heliconian  spring, 
But  sittest,  crowned  with  stars'  immortal  rays, 

In  heaven,  where  legions  of  bright  angels  sing, 
Inspire  life  in  my  wit,  my  thoughts  upraise, 

My  verse  ennoble,  and  forgive  the  thing, 
If  fictions  light  I  mix  with  truth  divine, 
And  fill  these  lines  with  others'  praise  than  thine." — (F.) 

The  first-fruit  of  this  invocation  is  the  account  of  the 
angel  Gabriel's  descent  to  earth,  bearing  the  divine 
command  that  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  should  be  elected 
sole  head  of  the  crusading  armies.  This  is  done,  and 
they  then  pass  in  review  before  him,  and  before  the 
reader,  who  is  thus  introduced  to  their  leaders,— to  the 
martial  prelates  William  and  Adhemar ;  to  Eobert  of 
Normandy  and  Gernando  of  ISTorway ;  to  the  wise  Eay- 
niond,  Count  of  Toulouse,  and  to  Godfrey's  brothers, 
Baldwin  and  Eustace ;  to  the  brave  lady  Gildippe,  whose 
poet  exclaims — 

"Where  love  keeps  school,  w^hat  thing  cannot  be  learned'?" 
as  he  reports  how,  rather  than  let  her  adored  husband 
(••o  to  the  wars  without  her,  she  learned  to  be  a  formid- 
able  warrior   herself ;   to  Einaldo    of   Este,  the   young 
Achilles  of   the   poem,  invented    and   placed   by  Tasso 


THE    STOLEN    IMAGE.  115 

among  his  historical  ^  personages  as  a  special  compli- 
ment to  Duke  Alphonso  ;  and  to  Tancred  the  Sicilian- 
Xorman,  most  interesting  of  Tasso's  heroes,  already 
hopelessly  in  love  with  the  beautiful  paynim  Amazon 
Clorinda, — since  his  chance-meeting  with  whom,  un- 
helmed  by  a  fountain,  his  mind  has  kno^m  no  peace, — 
and  whose  sadness  has  engraven  on  his  face  these  words  : 
"  He  burns,  and  his  love  is  hopeless." 

The  enumeration  of  the  crusading  host  and  fleet 
completed,  we  are  admitted  into  the  goal  of  their  labours, 
Jerusalem ;  where  we  find  the  aged  king  Aladdin  busy 
preparing  his  defence.  He  has  levied  troops  from  his 
own  subjects,  and  hired  numerous  mercenaries ;  he  has 
laid  waste  the  country  outside  his  walls  and  poisoned 
the  wells ;  and  he  has  raised  strong  bulwarks  on  the 
one  side  of  the  city  which  is  not  already  rendered  im- 
pregnable by  its  natural  defences.  But  over  and  above 
all  this,  he  has  likewise  recourse  to  enchantments ;  and 
the  powerful  sorcerer  Ismeno  assures  him  that  he  can  j^ro- 
vide  him  with  a  perfectly  effectual  palladium.  From  one 
of  the  Christian  churches  in  Jerusalem  an  image  of  the 
Yhgin  is  torn  by  force,  spells  are  muttered  over  it,  and 
Ismeno  promises  that  so  long  as  it  stands  ui  the  great 
mosque  on  Mount  Moriah,  the  crusaders  will  toil  in 
vain  to  take  the  city.  But  this  outrage  is  too  much 
for  the  patient  endurance  of  the  Christians  of  the  toA\Ti, 
few  and  feeble  as  they  are.  Some  pious  hand  risks 
death  to  remove  the  statue,  and  by  next  morning  it 
has  disappeared  from  the  mosque. 

All  search  for  it  or  for  its  stealer  proves  vain :   the 

1  See  Tasso's  57tli  Letter  (Guasti)  for  the  slender  historical  founda- 
tion. 


116  TASSO. 

king  grows  furious,  and  prepares  to  put  all  his  Christian 
subjects  to  the  sword.  Then  it  is  that  one  heroic 
maiden  resolves  to  devote  herself  to  die  for  her  people. 
*'  There  was,"  says  Tasso,  in  lines  the  biographic  signifi- 
cance of  which  we  have  already  seen,  "  among  them  a 
virgin  of  ripened  years,  and  high  and  regal  thoughts; 
hers,  too,  was  lofty  beauty,  but  for  that  she  cared  not, 
except  in  so  far  as  it  might  serve  for  an  ornament  to 
her  goodness ;  so  she  hid  it  in  a  narrow  cell  from 
the  gaze  of  admu^ers.  Yet  in  spite  of  her  care  it  was 
espied  by  the  young  Olindo,  who  dared  not,  however, 
reveal  to  Sophronia  (such  was  her  name)  the  passion 
with  which  it  inspired  him,  but — 

*  Wished  much,  hoped  little,  and  for  nothing  asked,' 
content  to  serve  on,  a  wretched  lover — 

*  Unseen,  ill-noted,  or  yet  worse,  disdained.' " 

At  the  news  of  her  nation's  peril,  Sophronialeaves  her  seclu- 
sion to  draw  down  on  her  single  head  the  wrath  which  else 
would  destroy  so  many.  She  takes  her  veil  and  mantle, 
and  passes  through  the  crowded  streets  to  the  palace. 

19. 

"  Admired  of  all  on  went  this  noble  maid 

Until  the  presence  of  the  king  she  gained, 

Kor  for  he  swelled  with  ire  was  she  afraid, 

But  his  fierce  wrath  with  fearless  grace  sustained. 

*  I  come,'  quoth  she,  '  (but  be  thine  anger  staid, 

And  causeless  wrath'gainst  faultless  souls  restrained) — 

I  come  to  show  tliee  and  to  bring  thee  both 

The  wight  whose  deed  hath  made  thy  heart  so  wrotli.' 

20. 
Her  modest  boldness,  and  that  lightning  ray 
Which  her  sweet  beauty  streamed  on  his  face 


sophronia's  self-sacpjfice.  117 

Had  struck  the  prince  with  wonder  and  dismay, 
Changed  his  cheer  and  cleared  his  moody  grace ; 

That  had  her  eyes  disposed  their  looks  to  play, 
The  king  had  snared  been  in  love's  strong  lace  ; 

But  wayward  beauty  doth  not  fancy  move,— 

A  frown  forbids,  a  smile  engendereth  love. 

21. 
It  was  amazement,  wonder,  and  delight, 

(Although  not  love)  that  moved  his  cruel  sense  : 
'  Tell  on,'  quoth  he,  *  unfold  the  chance  aright  ; 

Thy  people's  lives  I  grant  for  recompense.' 
Then  she,  '  Behold  the  faulter  here  in  sight,— 

This  hand  committed  that  supposed  offence  ;— (F.) 
I  took  the  image  ;  what  you  search  for  see  ; 
And  mine  of  right  the  punishment  must  be.' — (F.) 

22, 
Her  lofty  head  she  offered  thus  to  bear 

The  common  doom,  and  willed  it  hers  alone. 
0  noble  lie  !  is  ever  truth  so  fair, 

That  we  should  choose  it  in  thy  stead  our  own  ? 
The  tyrant  for  a  while  sat  thoughtful  there, 

Nor,  as  he  used,  his  rage  made  quickly  known  ; 
Then  said,  *  That  thou  discover  soon  I  will 

What  aid,  what  counsel  hadst  thou  in  that  ill/ 
23. 
<  "With  any  one  my  glory  to  divide, 

In  least  degree  was  far  from  my  desire,' 
She  said  ;  '  no  helper  walked  my  steps  beside  ; 

With  mine  own  self  I  did  alone  conspire.' 
'  On  thee  alone,'  the  tyrant  then  replied, 

'  Shall  all  the  heavier  fall  my  vengeful  ire.' 
'  'Tis  just  and  right,'  quoth  she,  '  I  yield  consent  ; 
Mine  all  the  praise,  so  all  the  punishment.' "  ^ 

1  Seven  lines  in  these  two  stanzas'  are  from  Fairfax's  version ;  the 
rest  of  which  varies  here  too  much  from  the  sense  of  the  original  to 
represent  it  adequately. 


118  TASSO. 

"  Where  liave  you  hid  the  image  1 "  asks  Aladdin. 
"  I  burned  it,"  is  Sophronia's  answer.  "  The  thief  you 
behold  ;  the  thing  stolen  you  will  never  see  ! "  Then 
the  king's  anger  can  be  no  longer  restrained.  Love 
vainly  interposes  her  beauty  as  a  shield. 

"  To  gain  a  pardon  for  her  hope  no  more 

Pure  heart,  high  mind,  and  noble-featured  face." 

The  maiden  is  condemned  to  be  burned.  Silently  she 
stands  while  her  veil  is  torn  away  and  her  arms  bound. 
Her  brave  heart,  if  shaken,  is  not  terrified ;  the  blood 
leaves  her  cheek,  but  no  unseemly  pallor  overspreads  it. 
Meantime  the  report  of  what  is  happening  goes 
through  the  city.  Olindo  hears,  fears  that  it  may  be  his 
adored  lady  of  whom  it  tells,  and  runs  to  see, — 

"  But,  when  that  beauteous  prisoner  he  in  place, 
Not  of  accused,  but  of  condemned,  beheld, 
When  on  their  cruel  task  the  soldiers  bent 
He  saw,  with  headlong  speed  he  forward  went 

28. 
To  the  king,  crying,  '  Nay,  not  guilty  she 

Is  of  this  theft ;  her  boast  is  madness  plain. 
A  lone,  unpractised  maid  could  never  be 

So  wise,  so  bold,  so  strong,  such  prize  to  gain. 
How  from  its  cheated  guards  she  artfully 

The  holy  image  stole  let  her  exjDlain, 
If  hers  the  deed.  1  that  I  took  it  tell.' 
(Alas  !  that  unloved  lover  loved  thus  well.)" 

Olindo  adds  such  circumstances  as  he  can  invent  on  the 
s]3ur  of  the  moment  to  make  his  tale  seem  credible,  and 
ends  by  saying — 

"  '  The  honour  and  the  death  of  right  are  mine  ; 
Let  not  this  maid  usurp  my  punishment. 


SOPHRONIA.    AND    OLINDO    AT    THE    STAKE.       119 

Mine  are  these  chains,  and  'tis  for  me  this  fire 
Is  kindled,  and  heaped  up  this  funeral  pyre.' " 

Soplironia  rejects  his  claim  :  she  needs  no  companion 
on  that  awful  path  which  she  is  preparing  with  undim- 
inished fortitude  to  tread.  Olindo  insists,  and  hears 
himself  as  magnanimously  as  she  does  in  the  unexampled 
contest. 

"  0  sight  for  men  and  angels'  gaze  !  where  met 
Are  love  and  high-souled  virtue  in  fair  strife  ; 
Where  death  for  prize  is  to  the  victor  set, — 
For  penalty  unto  the  vanquished — life." 

But  the  furious  king  grimly  throws  down  his  truncheon 
to  close  the  lists,  by  adjudging  the  prize  of  death  to  each 
of  the  combatants.  Bound  back  to  back  to  the  same 
stake,  Olindo  feels  emboldened  to  speak  to  the  lady  for 
whose  dear  sake  he  is  about  to  die,  and  let  his  long- 
suppressed  love  find  its  way  at  last  to  her  ear.  "  Is  this 
the  bond,  are  these  the  fires,"  cries  his  wailing  voice, 
"  which  I  once  hoped  might  kindle  both  our  hearts,  and 
bind  us  together  for  life*?  Love  promised  one  thing, 
cruel  fate  gives  another  :  what  it  separated  too  long  in 
life,  it  imites  with  harsh  hand  in  death.  Yet  I  rejoice 
to  be  thy  consort  even  on  this  bed  of  fire  :  thy  death 
grieves  me,  not  my  o^\ti,  since  I  die  beside  thee." 
Sophronia's  answer  comes  back  to  him  like  a  voice  from 
a  higher  sphere  : — 

36. 
"  '  Far  other  thoughts,  far  other  plaints,  my  friend. 
This  time  demands  from  us,  for  cause  more  high 
Why  not  upon  thy  sins  thy  spirit  bend, 

And  on  God's  guerdon  great  think  thankfully  ? 
In  His  Name  suffer,  and  all  pain  shall  end 


120  TASSO. 

In  sweetness  ;  gladly  seek  Him  in  the  sky. 
Behold  the  heavens  how  fair  ;  the  sun,  behold, 
Invitinoj  us  to  be  on  high  consoled/ 

37. 

Then  loud  the  pagan  throng  bursts  forth  in  tears  ; 

The  Christians  weep,  but  with  a  voice  more  lo^v. 
A  soft,  unwonted  thrill  to  shake  appears 

The  king's  harsh  breast,  at  sight  of  so  much  woe. 
He  feels  it  and  is  wroth,  to  bend  he  fears  ; 

Aside  his  looks,  his  footsteps  backward  go. 
Thou  only,  thou  Sophronia,  calm  dost  keep 
Amid  such  grief,  nor,  wept  by  all,  dost  weep." 

But  the  terrible  sacrifice,  after  all,  remains  unconsum- 
mated.  The  silver  tigress  is  seen  gleaming  on  an 
advancing  helmet,  which  betokens  the  approach  of 
Clorinda,  —  the  martial  maid  v^honi  Tancred  at  first 
sight  loved, — come  to  offer  her  redoubtable  arm  for  the 
defence  of  Jerusalem.  She,  like  her  prototype  Camilla, 
despised  from  childhood,  says  Tasso,  the  needle  and  the 
distaff,  to  follow  the  chas3  and  slay  the  fierce  beasts  of 
the  forest.  Grown  to  womanhood,  she,  like  her,  makes 
war  on  men ;  and  such  is  her  valour  that,  so  long  as  she 
lives,  the  city  will  remain  untaken.  This  is  the  powerful 
intercessor  who,  catching  sight  of  the  martyr  pair  at  the 
stake,  spurs  her  horse  forward. 

42. 
"  The  crowds  give  way  :  she  stops,  surveying  near 
The  two  thus  bound  together,  marks  how  one 
Deep  silence  keeps,  the  other's  groans  men  hear. 

And  by  the  weaker  sex  most  strength  is  shown. 
Him  she  sees  weep  like  man  of  dolorous  cheer 

Through  pity  for  an  anguish  not  his  oAvn, 
And  her  keep  mute,  with  eyes  so  fixed  on  heaven, 
Tliat  not  one  lingering  thought  to  earth  seems  given." 


DELTVEI^ED    BY    CLOFJNDA.  121 

Even  less  moved  by  Olindo's  plaints  than  by  Sophronia's 
silence,  Clorinda  asks  their  crime,  discerns  their  inno- 
cence, stays  their  execution  by  her  own  authority,  and 
goes  on  to  plead  for  tliem  with  the  king.  To  him  she 
urges  that  the  presence  of  an  image  being  contamination 
to  a  mosque,  its  removal  was  more  likely  to  be  a  miracle 
worked  by  Mahomet  himself,  than  the  act  of  any  mortal 
hand.  The  argument  is  a  good  one  ;  but  a  worse  would 
have  convinced  Aladdin  after  these  words  :  "I  am 
Clorinda,  whose  name  you  may  have  sometimes  heard, 
come  to  defend  your  realm  and  our  common  faith. 
Employ  me  where  you  like, — in  the  field,  within  your 
w^alls  :  I  neither  dread  the  loftiest  nor  disdain  the 
humblest  enterprise."  "  Where  has  your  fame  not  pene- 
trated ] "  replies  the  king.  "  I  feel  securer  aided  by  you 
than  by  the  accession  of  a  large  army,  and  begin  to  long 
for  Godfrey's  arrival.  Be  general  over  all  my  warriors. 
As  to  your  request,  I  can  refuse  nothing  to  such  an 
advocate.  If  those  for  whom  you  speak  are  innocent, 
I  acquit  them  ;  if  guilty,  I  give  them  to  you." 

53. 

''  Thus  were  the  twain  unbound.     Olindo's  fate 

"Was  of  a  surety  very  highly  blest, 
Which  let  him  deed  perform  that  love,  though  late, 

Through  love  awakened  in  a  noble  breast  ; 
And,  loved  for  lover  scorned,  yea,  wedded  mate 

For  doomed,  from  stake  to  nuptials  blithe  addressed. 
With  her  he  willed  to  die  ;  and  in  return 
She  for  hfe  chooses  who  with  her  would  burn." 

Meantime  the  Crusaders  are  advancing  towards 
Jerusalem.  They  are  already  at  Emmaus,  when  the 
ambassadors  of  the  King  of  Egypt,  sent  to  make  God- 


122  TASSO. 

frey  advantageous  offers  in  other  directions,  if  only  lie 
will  refrain  from  attacking  the  city,  come  up  with  them. 
One  of  these,  Alethes,  the  smooth-tongued  and  crafty 
counsellor,  was  a  sketch  from  life  at  Ferrara,  and  might 
be  easily  paralleled  elsewhere  among  the  Italian  states- 
men. His  speech  is  artful  and  persuasive  in  the  extreme. 
His  comrade,  Argantes,  is  a  nobler  form — the  Hector  ^ 
(so  far  as  valour  goes)  of  Tasso's  "  Hiad."  Covetous  of 
glory,  hating  the  Christian  name,  his  barbaric  pride  dis- 
dains to  cajole  and  to  entreat;  and  it  is  with  stern 
satisfaction  that  he  hears  Godfrey  thus  answer  Alethes' 
smooth  .arguments,  offers  of  friendship,  and  hints  at 
hidden  perils  : — 

82. 
"  Know  that  till  now  we  suffered  have  much  pain. 
By  lands  and  seas  where  storms  and  tempests  fall. 
To  make  the  passage  easy,  safe,  and  plain, 

That  leads  us  to  this  venerable  wall ; 
That  so  we  might  reward  from  heaven  obtain, 

And  free  this  town  from  being  longer  thrall ; 
Nor  is  it  grievous  to  so  good  an  end 
Our  honours,  kingdoms,  lives,  and  goods  to  spend." — (F.) 

83. 

"  For  'twas  not  Avarice,  or  Ambition's  call, 

That  spurred  and  guided  us  on  this  emprise. 

(Nay,  may  our  heavenly  Father  keep  from  all 
Our  hearts  infection  of  so  great  a  vice  ! 

Nor  let  upon  us  that  sweet  poison  fall 

Which  seeks  to  death  through  pleasure  to  entice.) 

But  His  high  Hand,  who  gently  pierces  through 

The  heart  of  stone,  to  soften  and  renew, 


^  Tasso  greatly  increased  the  resemblance  in  his  "  Gerusalemme 
Conquistata. "  Turnns  is  his  more  immediate  model  for  Argantes  in 
the  ''Jerusalem  Delivered." 


GODFREY'S    REPLY    TO    THE    AMBASSADORS.       123 

84. 

Has  set  us  on  onr  course,  and  been  the  guide 
Through  risk  and  hindrance  of  our  roving  feet ; 

This  has  for  us  smoothed  mounts,  and  rivers  dried, 
From  winter  snatched  the  frost,  from  summer  heat  ; 

Calmed  the  sea's  waves  when  loud  the  tempest  cried, 
Restrained,  or  sent  the  winds  to  aid  our  fleet. 

This  Hand  has  breached  for  us  each  lofty  wall, 

Made  armed  troops  before  us  flee  and  fall. 

85. 
'Tis  hence  our  valour,  hence  our  hope  takes  spring, — 

Not  from  strength  worn  by  many  a  toilsome  year, 
Not  from  our  ships  or  force  that  Greece  may  bring. 

Nor  yet  from  succouring  Franks  with  shield  and  spear. 
So  long  as  o'er  us  spreads  the  shadowing  Wing, 

We  little  reck  what  else  is  wanting  here. 
Who  knows  how  God  can  strike,  and  how  defend, 
AYill  in  his  peril  seek  no  other  friend. 

86. 
But  if  He  should  deprive  us  of  His  aid 

For  sin  of  ours,  or  judgment  hid  from  sight. 
Who  here  would  grieve  in  burial  to  be  laid 

Where  Christ's  own  limbs  received  the  burial  rite  ? 
We  die,  then,  of  who  live  not  envious  made  ; 

-\Ye  die,— our  death  pursues  avenging  might : 
Nor  yet  shall  Asia  in  our  fate  find  gladness, 
Xor  need  such  death  bedim  our  eyes  with  sadness." 

— Canto  II. 

"Let  him  who  rejects  peace  receive  war,"  Argantes 
hastens  to  exclaim  ;  and,  gathering  up  his  mantle  like 
Fabius  of  old,  he  adds  :  "  In  this  fold  I  bring  fliee 
peace  or  war;  take  which  thou  wilt."  "W^ar"  is  the 
answering  shout  of  the  chieftains  who  stand  round 
Godfrey.     Argantes  hiuds  back  on  them  their  defiance, 


124  TASSO. 

shakes  his  mantle,  and  departs  to  join  the  defenders  of 
Jerusalem;  leaving  Alethes  to  report  to  the  King  of 
Egypt  the  failure  of  their  mission. 

The  sliort  journey  which  remains  for  the  Crusaders  is 
accomplished  by  them  next  morning,  after  a  sleepless 
night  of  anxious  longing  to  behold  the  city  where  they 
would  be. 

3. 

"  Feathered  their  thoughts,  their  feet  in  wings  were  dight ; 

Swiftly  they  marched,  yet  were  not  tired  thereby, 
For  willing  minds  make  heaviest  burdens  light ; 

But  when  the  gliding  sun  was  mounted  high, 
Jerusalem,  behold  !  appeared  in  sight, — 

Jerusalem  they  view,  they  see,  they  spy ; 
Jerusalem,  with  merry  noise  they  greet, 
With  joyful  shouts  and  acclamations  sweet. 


As  when  a  troop  of  jolly  sailors  row 

Some  new-found  land  and  country  to  descry. 

Through  dangerous  seas  and  under  stars  unknowe, 
Thrall  to  the  faithless  waves  and  trothless  sky. 

If  once  the  wished  shore  begin  to  show, 
They  all  salute  it  with  a  joyful  cry. 

And  each  to  other  show  the  land  in  haste, 

Forgetting  quite  their  pains  and  perils  past. 

5. 

To  that  delight  which  their  first  sight  did  breed, 
That  pleased  so  the  secret  of  their  thought, 

A  deep  repentance  did  forthwith  succeed 

That  reverent  fear  and  trembling  with  it  brought  ; 

Scantly  they  durst  their  feeble  eyes  dispread 

Upon  that  town  where  Christ  was  sold  and  bought, 

Where  for  our  sins  He  faultless  suffered  pain. 

There  where  He  died,  and  where  He  lived  again. 


FIllST    SIGHT    OF    JERUSALEM  125 

6. 

Soft  words,  low  speech,  deep  sobs,  sweet  sighs,  salt  tears, 
Rise  from  their  breasts,  with  joy  and  pleasure  mixed ; 

Such  noise  their  passions  make,  as  when  one  hears 
The  hoarse  sea-waves  roar  hollow  rocks  betwixt, 
Or,  as  the  wind  in  hoults  and  shady  greaves, 
A  murmur  makes  among  the  boughs  and  leaves 

7. 
Their  naked  feet  trod  on  the  dusty  way. 

Following  the  ensample  of  their  zealous  guide ; 
Their  scarfs,  their  crests,  their  plumes,  and  feathers  gay 

They  quickly  dofft,  and  willing  laid  aside ; 
Their  molten  hearts  their  wonted  pride  allay : 

Along  their  watery  cheeks  warm  tears  down  slide ; 
And  then  such  secret  speech  as  this,  they  used, 
While  to  himself  each  one  himself  accused  : — (F.) 

8. 
'  Then,  Lord,  in  this  same  place  where  Thou  didst  dye 

With  thousand  streams  ensanguined  earth  with  red, 
Can  I  not  o'er  that  bitter  memory 

At  least  of  tears  two  living  fountains  shed  ? 
Ah  !  frozen  heart,  why,  streaming  through  mine  eye, 

Dost  thou  not  melt  in  drops  of  anguish  bred  ? 
Hard  heart,  why  stony  still,  nor  yet  made  new  ? 
If  tearless  now.  tears  endless  are  thy  due.'  " 

—Canto  III. 

It  is  in  passages  like  these  that  Tasso  shows  us  that 
he  has  caught  the  genuine  crusading  enthusiasm ;  and 
understood  how  what  the  love  of  country  was  to  Greek 
or  Eoman,  the  love  of  the  "  better  country  "  and  of  its 
invisible  King  is  to  Christians. 


126 


CHAPTEE    X. 


HERMINIA   AND   ARMIDA. 


The  romance  element  in  Tasso's  poem  natm^ally  makes 
its  presence  known  by  the  great  prominence  allotted  in 
it  to  women.  Its  second  canto  has  introduced  ns  to 
the  martial  Clorinda.  Its  third  and  fourth  make  us 
acquainted  with  the  contrasted  forms  of  the  lovety, 
virtuous  Herminia ;  and  the  yet  lovelier,  but  less  virtu- 
ous Armida.  Herminia  is  the  King  of  Antioch's  orphan 
daughter, — sheltered  after  his  defeat  and  death  at  Jeru- 
salem,— and  hopelessly  in  love  with  her  generous  ca2:)tor 
Tancred,  whose  heart,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  fixed 
elsewhere.  Were  not  love's  caprices  unaccountable,  we 
should  marvel  how  the  Sicilian  prince  coidd  prefer  the 
self-reliant  Clorinda  to  the  essentially  womanly  Her- 
minia; who,  timid  except  when  emboldened  by  love, 
modest,  gentle,  and  affectionate,  wins  every  reader's 
heart.  She  is  first  presented  to  us  standing  on  the  ram- 
jiarts  beside  King  Aladdin — an  innocent  Helen,  who  is 
able,  after  her  loug  captivity  among  the  Christians,  to 
answer  this  new  Priam's  question  about  their  leaders  in. 
the  plain  below ;  trembling  with  shame  for  her  hidden 
love  at  the  sight  of  Tancred,  and  liardly  able  to  reply 


ARMIDA  PEESEXTS  HERSELF  AT  THE  CAMP.   127 

when  the  king  asks  her  who  the  knight  is  wlio  looks  so 
terrible,  and  is  bearing  himself  so  bravely.  She  foUoAvs 
liim  with  her  eyes  along  the  plain ;  she  sees  his  en- 
counter with  Clorinda,  and  little  dreams  that  the  heart 
which  the  victor's  courtesy  had  made  her  hope  was  hers, 
belongs  to  the  wielder  of  the  kmce  which  slie  has  seen 
sliiver  in  hostile  guise  against  his  helmet. 

Eut  fair  and  delicate  as  are  the  tmts  with  which 
Tasso  has  painted  Herminia,  his  most  glowmg  colours 
are  reserved  for  Armida's  bewildering  beauty.  The 
niece  of  the  sorcerer  Kiug  of  Damascus  is  an  enchant- 
ress in  two  senses — able  to  use  the  spells  of  Homer's 
Circe;  but  as  able  to  bewitch  by  her  ow^n  loveliness. 
Her  uncle  sends  her  forth  to  seduce  the  Clnistian 
knights  from  their  enterj)rise ;  and  she  presents  herself 
in  their  camp  as  a  distressed  damsel  with  her  life  endan- 
gered, disjDOSsessed  of  her  rightful  throne  by  her  cruel 
uncle,  and  seeking  its  restoration  by  their  aid. 

29. 

"  Not  Argos,  nay,  not  Cyprus,  might  behold. 
Or  Deles,  such  a  robe,  such  beauty  rare ; 

Now  through  her  white  veil  shine  her  locks  of  gold, 
Now  flash  uncovered  making  bright  the  air. 

So,  when  the  skv  otows  clear,  now  shines  throucjh  fold 
Of  some  white  cloud  the  sun,  anon  more  fair 

Forth  issuing  from  that  cloud  he  darts  each  ray 

Clearer  around,  and  makes  a  double  day. 

30. 

Her  loosened  hair  the  breeze  has  curled  again 
Which  nature  bade  in  curling  waves  to  flow. 

Her  eyes  seem  misers  and  each  glance  restrain, 

Lest  men  Love's  treasure  and  their-  own  should  know. 


128  TASSO. 

Tender-liued  roses  are  'mid  ivories  fain 

In  that  fair  face  scattered  and  mixed  to  blow; 
But  on  those  lips  that  Love's  own  breath  has  parted 
Reddens  the  rose,  alone  and  single-hearted." 

Like  one  of  Titian's  most  gorgeous  beauties,  with 
golden  locks  and  vermeil  and  ivory  cheeks,  Armida 
kneels  before  Godfrey  and  tells  the  story  of  her  ^Tongs ; 
while,  supremely  lovely  in  her  tears,  she  strives  as  she 
implores  his  help  to  ensnare  his  heart.  But  she  strives 
in  vain.  She  has  before  her  not  a  Lancelot  but  a  Gala- 
had ;  and  to  swerve  even  in  thought  for  a  moment 
from  his  great  emprise  is  to  Godfrey  an  utter  impossi- 
bility. He  surveys  Armida's  beauty  with  an  untroubled 
though  pitying  eye ;  promises  her  help  after  Jerusalem 
shall  have  been  taken,  but  refuses  to  diminish  his  army 
before  then.  The  enchantress,  disappointed  in  one 
hope,  seeks  thereupon  to  move  the  more  impressionable 
hearts  of  the  young  knights  who  surround  her. 

70. 

'•'  At  this  the  Princess  bent  her  eyes  to  ground, 

And  stood  unmoved,  though  not  unmarked,  a  space ; 

The  secret  bleeding  of  her  inward  wound 
Shed  heavenly  dew  upon  her  angel's  face. 

*  Poor  wretch,'  quoth  she,  '  in  tears  and  sorrows  drowned. 
Death  be  thy  peace,  the  grave  thy  resting-place, 

Since  such  thy  hap  that,  lest  thou  mercy  find. 

The  gentlest  heart  on  earth  is  proved  unkind. 

71. 
Where  none  attends  what  boots  it  to  complain? 

Men's  froward  hearts  are  moved  with  women's  tears 
As  marble  stones  are  pierced  with  drops  of  rain. 

No  plaints  find  passage  through  unwilling  ears. 
The  tyrant  (haply)  would  his  wrath  restrain, 

Heard  he  these  prayers  ruthless  Godfrey  hears  ; 


armida's  feigned  distress.  129 

Yet  not  thy  fault  is  this ;  my  chance,  I  see, 
Hath  made  even  pity  pitiless  in  thee. 

72. 
So  both  thy  goodness  and  good  hap  denayed  me, 

Grief,  sorrow,  mischief,  care,  hath  overthrown  me ; 
The  star  that  ruled  my  birthday  hath  betrayed  me ; 

My  Genius  sees  his  charge,  but  dares  not  own  me ; 
Of  queen-like  state  my  flight  has  disarrayed  me ; 

My  father  died  ere  he  five  years  had  known  me ; 
My  kingdom  lost,  and  lastly  resteth  now, 
Down  with  the  tree  sith  broke  is  every  bough.' " — (F.) 

She  turns  proudly  away,  so  saying ;  but  as  she  does  so 
her  tears  flow  forth  afresh,  and 

75. 

*•  Her  cheeks  on  which  the  living  water  fell, 
Bathing  her  garment's  hem  or  e'er  it  dries, 
The  roses  white  and  red  resembled  well, 

"Whereon  the  rory  May-dew  sprinkled  lies. 
When  the  fair  morn  first  blusheth  from  her  cell. 

And  breatheth  balm  from  opened  Paradise !  ^ 
Aurora  sees  and  loves  their  beauty  fair, 
And  longs  to  pluck  it  to  adorn  her  hair." 

—Canto  IV. 

Godfrey's  brother,  the  young  Eustace,  moved  at  once 
by  compassion  and  by  love,  steps  forward  upon  this, 
and  vows  that  he  can  bear  sword  no  longer  if  not  suf- 
fered to  perform  the  promise  which  he  made  when  it 
was  first  girded  on  him — to  use  it  in  defence  of  oppressed 
maidens.  The  knights,  his  companions,  say  the  same; 
and  Godfrey,  sorely  against  his  better  judgment,  has  to 
yield,  and  promise  Armida  the  immediate  aid  of  ten  of 
their  number.       She  delays  her   departure   with  these, 

1  These  four  pretty  lines  are  also  Fairfax's. 
F.C. — XVI.  I 


130  TASSO. 

under  various  pretexts,  sufficiently  long  to  make  all  the 
younger  kniglits,  except  Tancred  and  Einaldo,  fall  in 
love  with  her;  so  that,  when  at  last  she  sets  off  with 
ten  defenders  chosen  by  lot,  the  rest  steal  after  lier  by 
night,  leaving  the  Christian  camp  but  ill  provided  with 
champions. 

For  though  Einaldo  has  thus  far  resisted  Armida's 
charms,  he  forsakes  the  camp  even  sooner  than  does 
her  train — driven  thence  by  anger  and  offended  pride, 
as  they  by  love.  The  squadron  of  knights  adven- 
tui-ers — to  which  he  and  they  alike  belong — has  lost 
its  leader  in  the  first  skirmish  under  the  sacred  walls. 
Dudon,  slain  by  Argantes,  and  buried  with  solemn 
rites,  has  been  dismissed  by  Godfrey  to  his  last  resting- 
place  with  the  words — 

68. 
"  We  need  not  mourn  for  thee  here  laid  to  rest ; 
Earth  is  thy  bed  and  not  thy  grave  ;  the  skies 
Are  for  thy  soul  the  cradle  and  the  nest ; 

There  live,  for  here  thy  glory  never  dies. 
For  like  a  Christian  knight  and  champion  blest 

Thou  didst  both  live  and  die :  now  feed  thine  eyes 
With  thy  Redeemer's  sight,  where  crowned  with  bliss 
Thy  faith,  zeal,  merit  well  deserving  is." — (F.) 

—Canto  III. 

And  the  next  business  is  to  choose  a  captain  of  the 
adventurers  in  Dudon's  place.  Gernando  of  IsTorway 
competes  with  Einaldo  for  the  vacant  post,  insults  him 
past  endurance,  and  is  run  through  the  body  by  the 
fiery  youth ;  who,  rather  than  submit  to  be  tried  for  his 
offence,  withdraws  afterwards  from  tlie  army  in  sullen 
displeasure. 

Other  causes  for  anxiety  arise, — the  rumoured  advance 


AEGANTES'    CHALLE^'GE.  131 

of  the  Egyptian  host,  and  the  intercepting  of  convoys 
of  provisions  by  the  marauding  Arabs.  Godfrey,  who 
meets  defections  and  adverse  rumours  with  unshaken 
firmness,  has,  however,  still  left  him  in  Tancred  a  brave 
arm  to  execute  what  he  as  head  may  plan.  But  his 
aid,  too,  is  to  be  taken  from  him. 

Arf^antes    chooses  this  inconvenient    moment   for   a 

o 

challenge  to  the  bravest  of  the  Christians  to  meet 
him  m  single  combat.  He  is  ready,  he  says,  to  fight 
their  four  best  in  tm-n,  and  after  he  has  disposed  of 
them,  to  encounter  a  fifth.  Godfrey  bids  Tancred  re- 
press this  arrogance  ;  who  is  gladly  going  forth  to  meet 
his  adversary,  when,  for  his  misfortune,  his  eye  falls 
on  Clormda,  to  whom  Aladdin  has  assigned  the  ofiice 
of  keepmg  the  gTOimd  for  Argantes.  Placed  on  an 
eminence,  her  glittering  armour  covered  by  a  surcoat 
whiter  than  the  sifted  snow  on  the  Alps,  her  vizor 
raised,  she  so  dazzles  Tancred's  eyes  by  her  beauty 
that  for  a  moment  he  forgets  all  else  to  gaze  upon  it. 
Another  knight,  called  Otho,  profits  by  his  delay,  im- 
prudently takes  his  place,  and  is  overthrown.  Tancred, 
rudely  awakened  from  his  dream,  but  too  late  to  stay 
Otho's  advance,  comes  forward  at  once  to  avenge  his 
fall.  And  then  begins  a  terrible  combat.  The  mighty 
lances  are  laid  in  rest,  the  horses  spurred  forward,  and 
Tancred  and  Argantes  meet  with  a  crash  as  of  thunder. 

"  Upon  their  helms  their  lances  long  they  broke  ; 
And  up  to  heaven  flew  splinters,  sparks,  and  smoke. 

41. 
The  shock  made  all  the  towers  and  turrets  quake, 
And  woods  and  mountains  all  nigh-hand  resound ; 


132  TASSO. 

Yet  could  not  all  that  force  and  fury  shake 

The  valiant  champions,  nor  their  persons  wound." — (F.) 

They  disengage  themselves  from  their  fallen  horses  and 
draw  their  swords.  Tancred's  superior  skill  gives  him 
some  advantage  over  the  vast  strength  of  his  opponent. 
Twice  wounded  by  him  without  drawing  blood  in 
return,  the  Circassian  lays  aside  all  thought  of  his  own 
defence,  and  rushes  on  his  foe  with  strokes  "which 
make  earth  tremble  and  the  sky  flash  fire."  Blood  now 
flows  freely  on  both  sides,  and  botli  heroes  might  easily 
have  been  slain.  But  friendly  night  descends  to  sepa- 
rate them  :  the  heralds  arrange  terms,  and  the  sixth  day 
is  fixed  for  the  renewal  of  the  fight,  to  give  time  for  their 
wounds  to  heal. 

!N'ow  while  the  woman  whom  Tancred  loved  stood, 
outwardly  at  least,  a  calm  spectator  of  his  peril,  it 
was  far  otherwise  with  the  woman  who  loved  him. 
Herminia,  from  her  watcb.  on  tlie  high  palace  tower, 
suffered  agonies  of  fear  for  his  sake  :  each  blow  that 
rang  on  his  armour  echoed  in  her  0'\\ti  heart,  which 
whispered  to  her,  "  He  there  in  danger  of  death  is  thy 
beloved."  So  when  she  heard  that  the  desperate  combat 
was  only  adjourned,  when  she  was  summoned  to  use  her 
skill  in  leechcraft  to  put  Argantes  in  a  condition  to  finish 
it  victoriously,  her  feelings  became  more  than  she  could 
bear.  She  resisted  indeed  the  temptation  to  poison  the 
wounds  she  was  dressing, — to  no  such  ill  oflice  could  her 
pious  and  virginal  hand  stoop ;  but  the  longing  to  apply 
her  healing  herbs  instead  to  Tancred's  hurts  became  imcon- 
troUable.  There  was  indeed  a  contest, — set  forth  by  Tasso 
in  many  inimitable  octaves, — for  some  time  doubtful 


herminia's  sortie.  133 

in  her  breast  between  those  two  potent  opposites— Love 
and  Honour.  But  Love  carries  the  day ;  and  Herminia 
resolves,  under  cover  of  the  night,  to  go  forth  with  a 
faithful  squire  and  a  handmaid— dressed  in  a  suit  of 
Clorinda's  armour,  which  she  steals— to  try  and  cure 
Tancred.  It  is  not  till  the  city  gates  have  opened  at 
the  sight  of  Clorinda's  crest,  and  at  the  woman's  voice 
w^hich  pronounced  her  name,  that  the  full  peril  of  her 
enterprise  dawns  upon  Herminia;  but  then,  timidly 
halting  in  a  solitary  place  a  little  way  from  the  w^alls, 
she  sends  her  squire  forward  to  find  out  Tancred's  tent, 
and  to  ask  of  him  a  safe-conduct  for  an  unnamed  lady. 

103. 
"  Xight  had  come  down,  her  veil  with  stars  dispread, 
Without  one  cloud  to  dim  outstretching  clear ;    ' 
The  rising  moon  her  radiant  lustre  shed, 

Touching  to  living  pearls  the  dew-drops  near. 
The  enamoured  maid  her  passion  softly  said 

For  those  pure  Ughts  and  holy  fires  to  hear ; 
Trusting  the  love  that  long  had  grieved  her  mind 
To  the  mute  plains,  and  to  the  silence  kind. 

104. 

Then,  looking  on  the  camp,  she  said :  *  0  fair 
Tents  of  the  Latins  to  these  longing  eyes, 

From  you  there  breathes  revivifying  air 
To  comfort  me  after  great  miseries ! 

So  may  kind  heaven  an  honoured  rest  prepare 
For  me  from  griefs  endured  and  agonies 

As  'tis  in  you  alone  I  seek  its  charms ; 

Nor  look  for  peace  save  in  the  midst  of  arms. 

105. 

Keceive  me  then ;  and  let  me  find  in  you 

That  pity  which  Love  promised  me,  safe  stored, 


134  TASSO. 

TJie  wliich  a  liappy  prisoner  once  I  knew 
From  him  my  gentle  ever  gracious  lord ! ' " 

— Canto  VI. 

These  hopes  and  aspirations  are  harshly  interrupted. 
Impatient  at  her  squire's  delay,  Herminia  had  advanced 
a  little  too  near  the  camp ;  and,  at  this  moment,  a 
moonbeam  glistening  on  her  silver  crest  reveals  it  to 
two  Latin  scouts.  One  of  these,  whose  father  had 
fallen  by  Clorinda's  hand,  casts  his  lance  at  her  repre- 
sentative, and  rouses  the  camp  to  the  pursuit ;  so  that 
Tancred,  who  had  despatched  the  squire  with  a  cour- 
teous message  to  the  unknown  lady,  learns  to  his  inex- 
pressible delight  that  it  was  Clorinda  who  sought  him, 
and  at  the  self-same  time  to  his  horror  that  she  is  in 
imminent  peril  for  his  sake.  What  can  he  do  but  leave 
his  bed,  mount  his  steed,  and  hasten  to  her  rescue? 
Eut  he  finds  her  not,  any  more  than  do  those  who  seek 
her  personator  with  a  worse  intent.  For  Herminia, 
says  Tasso,  scared  at  her  thirsty  approach  to  the  sweet 
"waters  of  love  by  the  clash  of  arms, — like  a  hind  terrified 
from  the  fountain  by  the  hunter's  shout, — fled,  as  it 
might  do,  wildly,  apart  from  her  attendants,  and  her 
fleet  horse  soon  bore  her  out  of  reach  of  her  enemies. 

Tancred,  after  a  night  spent  in  vain  researches, 
prepares  to  ride  back  to  the  camp.  ISTot  knowing  the 
way,  he  accepts  the  guidance  of  a  courier,  who  professes 
to  have  come  from  his  uncle,  Eohemond,  at  Antioch ; 
but  who  is,  in  reality,  an  emissary  of  Armida's,  and 
who  leads  him  to  her  castle,  which  stands  in  the  Dead 
Sea.  Night  has  come  by  this  time ;  and  the  treacher- 
ous guide  bids  him  lodge  in  a  fortress  newly  won  from 
the  Saracens  by  a  Christian  knight.     Tancred  hesitates ; 


'  tancred's  captuke.  135 

when  there  rides  forth  along  the  drawbridge  a  cavalier 
of  fierce  and  disdainful  bearing,  wlio  bids  him  at  once 
siuTender  himself  Armida's  prisoner,   or  take    oath   to 
serve  at  her  bidding  against  the  army  of   the  Cross. 
Tancred   knows  the  knight  well.      He   is   the  Gascon 
Rambald,    turned    renegade    for   Armida's    sake.       His 
comi-ades,  as  Tancred  afterwards  learns,  have  all  refused 
such  baseness,  and  are  her  prisoners  in  the  castle's  dim- 
geons.      "  This  right  hand  has  been  sent  to  punish  your 
apostasy,"  is   the   Christian  champion's   reply;    and   a 
single  combat  at  once  begins,  to  witness  which  Armida, 
amidst  a  blaze  of  magic  light,  appears  on  a  lofty  balcony. 
But  Eambald  is  no  match  for  Tancred,  at  whose  glorious 
name  the  colour  forsook  his   craven  cheek;   and,  after 
a  desperate  resistance,  he  takes  flight  into  the   castle. 
Tancred  imprudently  follows  him ;  a  portcullis  descends, 
and  renders  him  in  his  turn  a  prisoner.     He  finds  that, 
"like  an  eel  into  an  eel-trap,"  as  Tasso  says,  he  has 
rushed  into  a  dungeon  out   of  which  he   cannot  find 
his  way;   where  he  remains   gnashing  his  teeth  with 
vexation,    while   the   sixth    day  comes  and   goes,   and 
Argantes  rides  proudly  into  the  lists  and  calls  for  Tan- 
cred, and  scornfully  comments  on  his  absence. 

But  what  meantime  became  of  Herminia,  the  innocent 
cause  of  this  great  misfortune  1  Half-dead  with  terror, 
her  courser  carried  her  where  it  pleased  through  thicket 
and  forest.  All  night  she  fled,  not  daring  to  look  back 
and  see  whether  ehe  was  pursued  or  not :  all  day  she 
wandered  aimlessly.  Towards  evening  her  horse  stopped, 
tu-ed  out,  by  the  bank  of  the  river  Jordan ;  and  she,  as 
weary,  alighted  from  it,  and  laid  her  down  to  sleep  on 
the  grass.     And  then  follows  the  charming  idyl,  which, 


136  TASSO. 

composed  by  Tasso  during  his  last  peaceful  days  at 
Consandoli,  has  been  found  by  all  his  readers  so  refresh- 
ing in  its  pastoral  verdure  and  stillness  amid  the  glare 
and  heat  and  the  clash  of  arms  in  which  his  poem  per- 
force so  largely  deals. 

5. 

"  She  woke  not  till  the  birds  right  joyously 

She  heard  converse,  saluting  fair  the  day, 
The  river  murmur,  and  each  shrub  and  tree, 

And  with  the  waves  and  flowers  the  breezes  play. 
Her  languid  eyes  she  opened,  but  could  see  ; 

No  shepherd  'mid  those  lonely  pastures  stray,  i 

Yet  seemed  'mid  waves  and  boughs  a  voice  to  hear  j 

That  called  her  back  to  sigh  and  shed  the  tear.  ' 

6. 
But  while  she  weeps,  her  lamentations  fall 

To  silence  at  clear  sounds  her  ear  that  greet, 
Which  seem,  and  are,  rude  accents  pastoral. 

Sung  to  an  oaten  pipe  untrained  but  sweet. 
Eising,  and  slowly  moving  where  they  call. 

She  sees  an  old  man  on  a  shady  seat. 
His  baskets  weaving,  with  his  flock  hard  by 
Who  listens  to  three  children's  melody. 

7. 
These,  startled  by  the  sudden  flash  of  arms, 

Unwonted  there,  shrank  trembling  with  affright : 
With  kind  salute  Herminia  gently  charms 

Their  fears,  and  bares  her  eyes  and  gold  locks  bright : 
'  Pursue  your  work,'  she  says,  '  secure  from  harms, 

Ye  happy  men,  favoured  in  heaven's  own  sight; 
For  these  my  arms  no  cruel  warfare  bring 
To  your  fair  tasks,  or  the  sweet  songs  you  sing.' " 

Then  she  goes  on  to  ask  how  they  have  managed  thus 

far  to  escape  from  more  dangerous  warriors  than  herself ;  | 


HERMINIA    WITH    THE    SHEPHERDS.  137 

and  receives  for  answer  that,  besides  heaven's  kind  pro- 
tection, lowly  heads  like  theirs  do  not  attract  the  light- 
ning, or  their  poverty  entice  the  spoiler's  hand.  The 
old  shepherd  served  once  in  a  king's  palace,  as  he  tells 
her ;  but  his  happiest  day  there  was  that  on  which  he 
said  adieu  to  the  Court.  Xow  the  clear  water  quenches 
his  thirst  from  an  unpoisoned  cup,  his  garden  and  his 
flock  supply  him  with  cheap  dainties,  and  he  is  happy 
watching  the  fishes,  birds,  and  beasts  in  their  careless 
freedom. 

His  calm  words  fall  like  balm  on  Herminia's  troubled 
heart,  and  she  determines  to  seek  an  asylum  amid  these 
honest  shepherds,  to  whom  she  tells  part  of  her  sad 
story.  The  old  man  weeps  with  her;  he  and  his  wife 
show  her  all  kindness  ;  and  Tasso  leaves  her  for  a  season 
sheltered  by  their  humble  cot,  watching  and  milking  their 
sheep,  with  her  royal  beauty  shrouded  in  russet  garb,  and 
finding  some  solace  to  her  sorrow  as 

19. 
"  Oft,  while  to  shun  the  summer  heats  she  sees 
The  sheep  lie  panting  'neath  the  shady  groves, 
She  cuts  on  beechen-bark  or  laurel-trees 

In  thousand  ways  adorned  the  name  she  loves  : 
Graving  her  passion's  infelicities 

And  strange  sad  end,  from  tree  to  tree  she  roves  ; 
Then,  reading  over  her  own  words  again, 
Down  her  fair  cheeks  the  crystal  tear-drops  rain. 

20. 
'  Ye  friendly  trees,  she  then  would  weeping  say, 

*  Keep  in  safe  charge  this  story  of  my  woe  ; 
Tliat  so,  if  some  true  lover  shall  one  day 

Sojourn  awhile  your  grateful  shade  below, 
Sweet  pity  to  his  heart  may  find  her  way 


138  TASSO. 

When  you  my  ills  so  great,  so  varied,  sliow ; 
And  he  may  say  :  Ah,  too  unjust  the  meed 
By  Love  and  Fortune  to  such  faith  decreed ! 

21. 

'  The  chance  may  fall,  if  Heaven  benignant  e'er 
Will  listen  kindly  to  a  mortal's  prayers, 

That  one  day  through  these  forests  may  come  here 
He  who  for  me  now  haply  nothing  cares, 

And,  turning  then  his  eyes  where  buried  near 
This  weak  frame  rest  after  long  wandering  shares, 

May  give  late  guerdon  to  my  miseries 

Of  few  scant  tear-drops  and  some  troubled  sighs.'  '• 

—Canto  VIL 


139 


CHAPTER    XL 

RAYMOND    OF    TOULOUSE    AND    SOLYMAN    OF    XIC^A. 

While  Herminia  is  weeping  beside  the  Jordan,  and 
Tancred  vainly  raging  against  his  prison-bars  in  the 
Dead  Sea  fortress,  Argantes,  after  a  sleepless  night  of 
anxiety  to  renew  the  combat,  rises  before  the  dawn, 
calls  for  his  richest  armour,  and,  flaming  in  it  like  some 
baleful  comet,  already  sees  in  his  hopes  the  Christian 
champion  overthrown.  The  herald  summons  Tancred, 
and  the  rest  if  they  will,  to  the  field.  There  is  silence 
for  a  moment  among  the  crusaders.  Then  Godfrey, 
rather  than  see  his  army  disgraced,  prepares  to  expose 
his  own  life  in  the  encounter.  Eut  this  the  veteran 
Count  Eaymond  of  Toulouse  forbids ;  and,  wishing  that 
he  still  possessed  the  youthful  vigour  with  which  he 
met  and  slew  the  German  Leopold  before  the  eyes  of 
the  Emperor  and  his  Court,  undertakes  the  adventure 
himself.  Shamed  by  his  example,  others  demand  the 
fight.  But  the  lot  decides  in  Raymond's  favour,  and 
the  brave  old  man  rides  forth  to  the  field,  where  Ar- 
gantes is  scoffing  at  Tancred's  cowardice ;  and,  seeing 
what  a  mighty  adversary  awaits  him,  thus  directs  his 
prayer  to  God  : — 


140  TASSO. 

78. 
"  0  Lord !  that  diddest  save,  keep,  and  defend 
Thy  servant  David  from  Goliath's  rage, 
And  broughtest  that  huge  giant  to  his  end, 

Slain  by  a  faithful  child  of  tender  age  ; 
Like  grace,  0  Lord !  like  mercy  now  extend. 

Let  me  this  vile  blasphemous  pride  assuage. 
That  all  the  world  may  to  Thy  glory  know. 
Old  men  and  babes  Thy  foes  can  overthrow." — (F.) 

— Canto  yiL 

In  answer,  Raymond's  guardian  angel  is  sent  down  to 
protect  him  with  that  shield  of  shining  diamond  which 
hangs  beside  Michael's  spear  in  the  armoury  of  heaven, 
for  the  defence  of  holy  cities  and  just  princes.  Argantes 
is  amazed  to  find  his  strokes  prove  vain ;  now  eluded  by 
the  swiftness  of  Raymond's  courser  Aquiline,  now  re- 
pelled by  the  invisible  shield,  against  Avhich  at  last  his 
good  sword  shivers  in  his  hand. 

The  Count's  prayer  seems  about  to  be  granted,  wheii 
Argantes  is  rescued  from  his  imminent  peril  by  the 
old  device  of  the  fourth  book  of  the  "  Iliad."  An 
evil  spirit  takes  Clorinda's  shape,  and  prevails  on  the 
expert  archer,  Oraddin,  to  shoot  an  arrow  which  slightly 
wounds  Raymond.  Godfrey  charges  forward  with  his 
cavalry  to  avenge  the  treachery  which  has  thus  violated 
the  truce  between  the  two  armies,  and  there  is  a  general 
melee;  in  which,  spite  of  brave  deeds  performed  by 
Argantes,  the  Christians  have  the  advantage,  driving 
their  foes  to  the  city  gates.  But  there  a  storm  raised  by 
the  paynim's  faithful  allies,  the  evil  spirits,  sets  full  in 
the  face  of  the  crusaders ;  Clorinda  charges  them  vigor- 
ously, and  they,  in  their  turn,  are  driven  back. 

Sad  news  conies  with  the  morning  light.     Sweyn,  the 


DEATH    OF    SWEYX.  141 

King  of  Denmark's  only  son,  on  his  march  to  join  the 
crusaders,  has  fallen  in  with  Solyman,  the  dispossessed 
Sidtan  of  IS'icsea,  at  the  head  of  the  Arabs  whom  he  has 
subsidised  with  Egyptian  gold,  and  been  cut  off  with 
his  followers  nearly  to  a  man.  One  solitary  survivor 
makes  his  way  to  the  Christian  camp,  and  narrates  his 
prince's  valorous  exj)loits  on  the  road ;  and  how,  when 
they  unexpectedly  found  a  large  army  barring  their  path 
on  the  confines  of  Palestine,  when  many  others  turned 
pale  at  the  news — 

"  Only  our  noble  lord  was  altered  nought 
In  look,  in  face,  in  gesture,  or  in  thought  ; 

15. 
But  said — '  A  crown  prepare  you  to  possess 

Of  martyrdom,  or  happy  victory ; 
For  this  I  hope,  for  that  I  wish  no  less, 

Of  greater  merit  and  of  greater  glory. 
Brethren,  this  camp  will  shortly  be,  I  guess, 

A  temple,  sacred  to  our  memory, 
To  which  the  holy  men  of  future  age 
To  view  our  graves  shall  come  in  pilgrimage.'  " — (F.) 

These  words  were  made  good  by  their  speaker.  Out- 
numbered by  twenty  to  one,  Sweyn  and  his  friends  so 
fought  through  the  night  as  to  make  their  assailants  buy 
their  victory  dear.  When  morning  came,  and  showed 
of  his  two  thousand  men  scarce  a  hundred  alive,  the 
gaUant  Dane  bade  the  few  survivors  follow  to  heaven 
in  the  path  plainly  traced  for  them  by  their  comrades' 
blood ;  and,  "  glad  to  see  death  so  near,"  went  on  slaymg 
long  after  he  ought  to  have  sunk  exhausted  by  his  own 
wounds,  till  at  last  he  fell  dead  before  the  assault  of 
Solyman  and  his  band.     "I,"  says  the  narrator,  "did 


142  TASSO. 

my  best  to  follow  him,  and  fell  at  last  for  dead  among 
the  slain.  AVhen  I  recovered  my  senses,  night  had 
come.  A  light  twinkling  afar  drew  nearer,  and  two 
hermits  bent  over  me  with  their  torches.  One  of  them 
spoke  a  blessing  over  me,  and  forthwith  my  wounds 
were  healed.  Rising  to  my  feet,  I  recognised  the  body 
of  my  dead  chief,  pointed  out  by  a  ray  from  a  resplen- 
dent star. 

33. 

"  Not  prone  he  lay ;  but  as  his  longing  thought 

He  ever  set  above  the  stars  on  high, 
So  now  with  face  upturned  the  heavens  he  sought, 

Like  man  whose  soul  there  tendeth  constantly. 
His  right  hand  firmly  clenched,  like  one  who  fought, 

Grasped  his  good  sword  to  strike  the  foeman  nigh ; 
The  other  on  his  breast  right  humbly  laid, 
Showed  how  for  pardon  to  his  God  he  prayed." 

The  story  ends  by  the  sword  being  taken  from  the  dead 
man's  grasp  and  sent  to  Einaldo,  that  with  it  he  may 
avenge  its  former  owner  on  Solyman. 

The  Dane's  inquiry  for  him  rouses  fresh  regret  in  the 
camp  for  the  young  hero's  absence.  Men  begin  to  re- 
hearse his  great  deeds,  and  to  wish  for  his  return.  It 
is  at  this  critical  moment  that  news  is  brought  that 
the  brave  champion  has  been  murdered,  and  that,  too 
probably,  by  Godfrey's  orders.  Foragers  bear  in  battered 
armour,  and  a  rent  and  bloody  surcoat,  known  by  all  men 
as  Rinaldo's,  which  they  have  stripped  from  a  headless 
corpse  two  days'  journey  from  the  camp.  There  is  a 
seditious  outcry  among  the  rank  and  file  of  the  army, 
instigated  by  Argillano,  himself  set  on  by  a  Fury,  for 
vengeance  upon  Godfrey  as  the  assassin.    With  a  prayer 


S0LYMA^•'S    NIGHT    ATTACK.  143 

that  his  innocence  may  be  revealed,  the  chief  calmly  con- 
fronts the  angry  croAvd.  Before  his  majestic  demeanour 
their  clamour  sinks  down  to  silence;  and  ashamed  of 
their  suspicions,  they  lay  aside  their  arms,  and  allow 
their  leader  to  be  led  to  prison. 

84. 

"  Fame  is  a  winged  warrior  they  beheld, 

With  semblant  fierce  and  furious  look  that  stood, 
And  in  his  left  hand  had  a  splendent  shield 

Wherewith  he  covered  safe  their  chieftain  good ; 
His  other  hand  a  naked  sword  did  wield. 

From  which  distilling  fell  the  lukewarm  blood, 
The  blood  pardie  of  many  a  realm  and  town 
AVhereon  the  Lord  His  wrath  had  poured  down." — (F.) 

-Canto  VIII. 

Xo  sooner  has  Alecto  seen  the  failure  of  this  design, 
than  she  provokes  Solyman  to  a  night  attack  on  the 
crusading  camp  with  his  Arab  host.  He  makes  an 
inspiriting  address  to  his  men,  bidding  them  regain  the 
wealth  of  Syria  by  plundering  the  weakly  defended 
Cliristian  tents ;  and  dashes  forward  at  their  head,  their 
wild  shouts  mingling  with  the  clash  of  drum  and 
cymbal.  At  a  signal  from  the  Fury,  the  forces  of  the 
besieged  sally  forth  to  help  his  enterprise;  while  a 
darker  troop  of  auxiliaries  rises  from  the  Stygian  gloom, 
to  cast  bewildering  teiTors  on  the  Christian  host.  In 
the  dimness  of  their  supernatural  twilight  the  Soldan's 
dragon-crest  gleams  baleful,  and  seems  alive  to  alarmed 
beholders,  as  he  routs  the  advanced  posts,  forces  his 
way  into  the  camp,  and  slays  the  defenders ;  here  cata- 
logued by  Tasso  with  Homeric  precision.  Matters  look 
ill  for  the  Christians  for  a  while ;  but  Godfrey  quickly 


144  TASSO. 

sends  Guelph  to  keep  back  the  troops  that  sally  from 
Jerusalem,  and  goes  himself,  with  the  forces  that  gather 
round  him,  to  confront  Solyman.  For  a  season  the 
fight  is  maintained  on  equal  terms, — deeds  being  done 
on  both  sides  worthy  to  be,  not  shrouded  by  darkness, 
but,  displayed  by  the  brightest  daylight  in  a  world-wide 
theatre.  Presently  the  archangel  Michael  is  sent  down 
from  heaven. 

62. 

"  The  horrid  darkness  and  the  shadows  dun 

Dispersed  he  with  his  eternal  wings ; 
The  flames  which  from  his  heavenly  eyes  outrun 

Begild  the  earth  and  all  her  sable  things. 
After  a  storm  so  spreadeth  forth  the  sun 

His  rays,  and  binds  the  clouds  iu  golden  strings ; 
Or  in  the  stillness  of  a  moonshine  even 
A  falling  star  so  glideth  down  from  heaven." — (F.) 

Poised  in  mid-air  with  brandished  lance,  the  celestial 
warrior  commands  the  army  of  evil  spirits  to  depart 
from  among  the  paynim  host  to  their  own  abodes. 
Sighing  and  groaning,  they  quit  the  golden  starlight  for 
the  nether  glooms  in  multitudes  so  vast  that 

"  The  birds  that  follow  Titan's  hottest  ray 
Pass  not  by  so  great  flocks  to  warmer  coasts ; 

Nor  leaves  by  so  great  numbers  fall  away 

When  winter  nips  them  with  his  new-come  frosts." — (F.) 

— Canto  IX. 

But  the  departure  of  these  auxiliaries  is  scarcely  felt  at 
first  by  the  Saracens ;  the  void  it  leaves  being  suppKed 
for  a  while  by  the  indomitable  courage  of  Argantes  and 
Clorinda.  Argillano  bursts  forth  from  his  prison  and 
joins  the  fray,  only  to  redeem  his  errors  by  a  soldier's 


KETURX  OF  TANCKED  AND  OTHER  ADVENTURERS.  145 

death. ^  Godfrey  indeed  makes  some  im.pression  on  the 
band  of  disciplined  Turks,  which  forms  the  nucleus  of 
Solyman's  army ;  but  the  sun  is  nevertheless  rising  on 
an  action  as  yet  undecided,  when  his  beams  display  an 
advancing  squadron  of  warriors,  before  whose  prowess 
the  coward  Arab  flees,  and  the  courageous  Turk  falls. 
The  fugitive  many  are  mown  down,  the  brave  few  sell 
their  lives  dearly;  the  victory  remains  with  Godfrey, 
and  Argantes  and  Clorinda  draw  their  troops  back  within 
the  city.  Solyman,  indeed,  has  neither  fled  nor  fallen ; 
but  his  strength  is  exhausted,  he  is  covered  with  blood 
and  sweat,  his  sword  is  blunted  with  long  use,  and  he 
deliberates  whether  to  turn  it  against  his  own  breast,  or 
retreat,  that  he  may  fight  the  Christians  on  a  future  day. 
It  is  on  this  latter  course  that  he  resolves.  Ismeno  heals 
his  wounds  by  magic,  and  transports  him  in  a  cloud  into 
Aladdin's  council-chamber;  and  thenceforth  Solyman 
completes  the  triad  of  chiefs  who  preside  over  the  de- 
fence of  Jerusalem. 

As  soon  as  the  battle  is  over,  the  opportune  reinforce- 
ment which  helped  so  materially  to  gam  it  present 
themselves  to  Godfrey  as  the  fifty  knights  led  astray  by 
Armida.  They  tell  with  shame  how  she  duped  and 
imprisoned  them;  how  they  experienced  her  power  to 
metamorphose  them  into  brute  shapes,  yet  held  fast 
their  faith  in  spite  of  her  threats  and  promises;  and 
how,  sent  as  her  prisoners  under  a  strong  guard  to  the 
King  of  Egypt,  Tancred — the  manner  of  whose  capture 
we  have  seen — with  the  rest,  they  were  delivered  by 

1  The  whole  passage,  Canto  IX.,  75-86,  is  a  skilful  mosaic  from 
Homer.  Virgil,  and  Lucan,  and  one  of  Tasso's  closest  classical  imita- 
tions. 

F.C. — XVI.  K 


146  TASSO. 

tlie  wandering  Einaldo,  who,  single -handed,  attacked 
and  defeated  their  escort.  The  joy  of  the  Christian 
camp  is  made  complete  by  this;  since  it  has  not  only 
regained  its  strayed  champions,  but  obtained  clear  proof 
that  the  tale  of  Rinaldo's  death,  made  so  plausible  by 
Armida's  skilful  use  of  his  cast-off  suit  of  armour,  is  but 
one  more  of  her  delusions. 


147 


CHAriEE    XIL 

THE    FIRST    ASSAULT — CLORIXDa's    ENTERPRISE. 

Emboldened  by  their  victory  over  Solyman,  and  strength- 
ened by  the  return  of  the  knights,  the  crusaders  now 
prepare  to  assault  the  city.  The  battering-rams  and 
other  engines  of  offence  are  in  readiness ;  and  at  Peter 
the  Hermit's  bidding,  the  army  goes  in  solemn  proces- 
sion to  implore  the  divine  blessing  on  the  under- 
taking. Peter  leads  the  wa}^,  carrying  the  banner  of 
the  Cross;  the  choir  follows,  led  by  the  two  soldier- 
bishops,  William  and  Adhemar ;  then  follow  the  cap- 
tains and  the  soldiers, — all  alike,  on  their  way  to  Mount 
Olivet  where  the  altar  has  been  raised,  chanting  the 
Litany. 

7. 

"  Thee  Father,  Thee,  that  Father's  equal  Son, 

Thee,  breathed  from  Both  united  forth  in  love ; 

Thee,  Virgin-mother  of  the  Holy  One, 
Incarnate  God,  they  call  to  help  above ; 

O  chiefs  who  heaven's  bright  squadrons,  as  they  run 
Their  course,  in  thrice-repeated  circles  move ; 

0  saint,  who  once  the  brow  divine  didst  lave 

Pure  in  its  manhood  by  the  Jordan's  wave, 


U8  TASSO. 


8. 


On  you  they  call ;  thee,  too,  foundation-stone 
Of  God's  high  house  securely  built  and  strong, 

Where  to  thy  worthy  successor  alone 

The  keys  of  grace  and  pardon  now  belong  ; 

Those  who  with  thee  the  victor- death  made  known, 
The  heavenly  kingdom's  heralds'  holy  throng ; 

With  those  who  came  to  make  your  witness  good, 

Confirming  it  in  tortures  with  their  blood : 

9. 

Those  also  who  the  road  to  heaven  made  clear 
To  wandering  mortals,  by  their  pen  or  voice ; 

Christ's  faithful  handmaid  also,  true  and  dear. 
Who  of  the  nobler  portion  made  her  choice ; 

Maids  who,  in  chaste  cell  cloistered,  God  revere. 
And,  to  high  nuptials  with  Him  called,  rejoice; 

With  virgins  who  their  truth  in  torments  proved, 

Whom  kings  nor  nations  from  their  fealty  moved. 


11. 

There  march  the  host,  and  as  they  march  they  sing, 
Making  deep  vale  resound  and  hillside  steep, 

From  mount  and  hollow  cave  their  accents  spring, 
As  echo  everywhere  awakes  from  sleep  ; 

Some  woodland  choir  their  chant  seemed  answering, 
Hid  'mid  the  leafy  boughs  and  caverns  deep, 

So  clearly  could  be  heard,  now  Christ's  great  Name, 

Now  Mary's,  as  in  sweet  response  they  came." 

Mass  said,  all  is  prepared  for  the  assault,  and  next  day — 

19. 

"  Yet  doubtful  was  the  dawn,  the  birth  of  day 
Yet  in  the  eastern  sky  was  immature ; 


GODFREY    ASSAULTS    THE    TOWX.  U9 

No  plough  was  cleaving  through  hard  clods  its  way, 
Xor  shepherd  to  the  mead  returned  ;  secure 

Slept  yet  the  birds  upon  each  leafy  spray ; 

Nor  horn,  nor  hound,  is  heard  in  wood  or  moor ; 

"When  from  the  morning-trump  resounds  the  cry 

'  To  Arms !' — '  to  arms '  loud  echoes  from  the  sky." 

—Canto  XI. 

Godfrey  insists,  notwithstanding  Raymond's  remon- 
strance against  imperilling  the  commander-iii-chief,  on 
leading  the  assault,  saying  that,  when  he  took  the 
Cross  at  Clermont  from  Pope  Urban's  hand,  he  had 
vowed  to  serve  God  as  a  private  soldier  might ;  and  that 
he  meant  to  perform  that  vow.  Other  chiefs  follow  his 
example,  and  prepare  to  mount  the  scaling-ladders  in 
light  cuirasses.  First  come  the  slingers  and  archers  to 
clear  the  ramparts  so  far  as  may  be  of  their  defenders ; 
and  for  the  same  end  balista  and  catapult  discharge  their 
powerful  missiles,  whilst  the  assailants  advance  to  the 
foot  of  the  walls  under  a  pent-house  of  shields.  Having 
filled  the  dry  ditch  with  stones  and  fagots,  they  proceed 
to  set  up  their  ladders.  Meantime  the  battering-ram 
strives  to  make  a  breach  in  the  wall,  and  Godfrey's 
tower  is  moved  close  up  to  it.  This  most  formidable  of 
the  crusaders'  engines,  fitted  wdth  armed  men,  has  its 
topmost  storey  as  high  as  the  city  bulwark ;  and  the 
object  of  the  assailants  is  to  grapple  the  wall's  summit 
with  their  movable  bridge,  and  board  it  like  some  huge 
ship  of  war. 

The  besieged  are  as  diligent  in  the  defence  as  are 
the  Christians  in  the  attack.  They  tlirow  sulphur 
and  bitumen  on  the  invaders,  and  hurl  down  heavy 
stones   upon   them;    they  guard  the  wall   against    the 


150  TASSO. 

battering-rams  by  counter -protections,  and  pusli  tlie 
tower  away  from  it  by  poles.  A  perpetual  hailstorm 
of  darts  and  arrows  rains  down  on  their  assailants. 
Seven  Erank  leaders  are  slain  or  disabled  by  CIo- 
rinda's  bow;  who  stands,  like  Diana  in  her  vengeful 
mood,  on  the  corner  tower.  Argantes  and  Solyman  rise 
gigantic  above  the  rest  of  the  garrison ;  the  latter  closing 
up  the  breach  which  is  at  last  effected  in  the  wall  by 
standing  in  it  to  defy  all  efforts  at  entrance — the  former 
making  it  his  business  to  repel  the  movable  tower. 
Yet  both  might  have  been  overpowered  by  the  onward 
rush  of  the  Christians  had  not  these  last  lost  their  three 
principal  leaders'  help  at  this  critical  moment, — Guelph 
and  Eaymond  being  each  knocked  down  by  stones  cast 
from  the  ramparts,  and  Godfrey  disabled  by  one  of  Clo- 
rinda's  arrows.  Argantes  and  Solyman  then  sally  forth, 
and  act  as  assailants  in  their  turn.  Tancred  has  much 
ado  to  save  the  valued  wooden  tower  from  being  burned ; 
and  although  Godfrey — like  ^neas — marvellously  healed 
of  his  arrow-wound,  returning  to  his  post,  renews  the 
assault,  he  is  soon  obliged,  by  the  approach  of  night,  to 
content  himself  with  drawing  off  his  men  in  good  order. 
The  unwieldy  tower  loses  two  wheels  as  it  is  being 
dragged  back,  and  has  to  be  left  under  a  guard  to 
undergo  the  necessary  repairs  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  camp. 

This  circumstance  inspires  Clorinda  Avith  the  bold 
design  of  issuing  forth  by  night  and  destroying  it, — 
a  deed  wliich,  in  the  slowness  with  which  warlike 
engines  were  then  prepared,  might  possibly  delay  the 
next  assault  till  the  arrival  of  the  relieving  army 
from  Egypt.       She   seeks  Argantes,  and  tells   him   of 


clokinda's  birth.  151 

her  project,  bidding  him — should  it  cost  her  life — 
take  care  of  her  handmaids  and  of  her  foster-father. 
Argantes  insists  on  sharing  her  fate,  whether  glory  in 
life  or  death.  The  king  approves  the  design;  Ismeno 
goes  to  prepare  a  bituminous  compound  which  shall 
insure  the  desired  conflagration,  while  Clorinda  lays  aside 
plume  and  crest,  and  puts  on  black  armour  suitable  to  a 
nocturnal  expedition. 

This  sign  of  a  dangerous  undertaking  dismays  her 
faithful  old  guardian  Arsetes,  and  he  implores  her,  by 
the  memory  of  his  past  care  for  her,  and  by  his  hair 
whitened  in  her  service,  to  give  it  up.  The  warrior- 
maid  refuses  :  a  power  unknoAvn  to  herself  is  urging 
her  on. 

"  Hear  something  before  unknown  to  you,"  says  the 
old  man  at  last,  "and  see  if  it  cannot  change  your 
determination."  He  then  narrates  to  Clorinda  the  story 
of  her  birth.  ^  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  Christian  king 
of  Abyssinia, — the  white  cliild  of  black  parents.  Her 
pious  mother's  devout  contemplation  of  a  picture  of 
St  George  fighting  the  dragon  on  behalf  of  a  fair-com- 
plexioned  maiden  wrought  this  marvel.  But  a  great 
terror  seized  her  when  her  babe  was  born ;  for  how 
could  she  hope  that  her  jealous  husband  would  think 
this  explanation  to  be  the  true  one.  So  the  unhappy 
queen  determined  to  show  him  a  new-born  black  cliild 
in  its  place ;  and  sadly  committed  her  as  yet  unbaptised 
infant,  first  to  the  care  of  God  and  St  George — with  the 
prayer  that  she  might  be  as  chaste  as  her  mother,  but 
more  fortunate — and  then  to  the  charge  of  her  trusty 

1  Borrowed  Ly  Tasso  from  one  of  the  earliest  of  novels — the 
"Theasrenes  and  Chariclea"  of  Heliodonxs. 


152  TASSO. 

eiiniicli  Arsetes.  He,  as  he  says,  weeping  himself,  took 
the  babe  from  the  pale  and  fainting  queen,  and  carried 
it,  hid  in  a  basket  of  flowers,  forth  from  the  palace. 
Twice  ere  it  was  two  years  old  was  it  in  peril  of  death — 
once  when  its  guardian's  terror  abandoned  it  to  a  hungry 
tigress,  and  once  when  he  dropped  it  in  a  river,  across 
which  he  was  swimming  pursued  by  thieves.  But  the 
tigress  suckled  the  babe,  let  it  fondle  her,  and  walked 
away.  The  waters  bore  it  unharmed  to  the  shore,  which 
its  protector  hardly  reached  ;  and  the  night  after,  a  war- 
rior appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  and  said  that  he  was 
the  child's  true  guardian,  who  had  made  wild  beasts 
pity  her  and  waves  forbear  to  drown  her,  and  that  he 
had  come  to  command  her  immediate  baptism.  But 
Arsetes  was  a  bigoted  Mohammedan,  and  so  when  he 
awoke  he  disregarded  this  injunction.  For  many  years 
it  was  not  repeated ;  but  now,  says  the  old  man,  "  in 
my  slumber  yesterday  I  saw  the  self-same  image,  only 
with  angrier  countenance.  His  voice,  too,  was  louder, 
as  he  said  reproachfully,  '  The  hour  is  nigh  when 
Clorinda  will  at  once  change  life  and  destiny,  but  to 
your  sorrow.'  Oh  then,  forbear  to  run  this  risk ;  it 
may  be  that  we  have  been  fighting  against  the  true 
faith." 

Clormda  remains  thoughtful  for  a  while — for  she 
too  has  seen  a  vision  in  her  sleep.  Then  she  deter- 
mines in  favour  of  the  faith  in  which  she  has  been 
brought  up ;  and,  resolving  to  yield  to  no  coward  fears, 
departs  on  her  errand  with  Argantes. 

They  succeed  admhably.  Creeping  stealthily  up  to 
the  wooden  tower,  and,  as  soon  as  they  are  heard,  scat- 


THE    TOWER   IS    BURNED.  153 

tering  its  defenders  by  a  vigorous  onslaught,  they  apply 
the  combustibles ;  then  as  the  guard  rally  to  the  attack, 
retreat,  seeing  behind  them  the  rising  flames  which, 
not  to  be  extinguished  by  all  the  efl'orts  of  the  Chris- 
tians, reduce  to  ashes  in  a  few  minutes  the  work  of 
many  months. 


154 


CHAPTER    XIII 


DEATH     OF     CLORINDA. 


Pursued  closely  by  two  squadrons  of  Christians,  Ar- 
gantes  and  Clorinda  nevertheless  make  good  their  way 
back  to  the  Golden  Gate  of  Jerusalem,  which  opens  to 
admit  them,  while  Solyman  rushes  out  to  scatter  their 
pursuers.  It  is  then  shut,  both  being  supposed  safe 
within ;  but  in  point  of  fact,  Clorinda,  who  darted  forth 
to  return  a  blow  which  she  had  received,  has  been  left 
outside  unperceived  in  the  darkness.  For  a  moment, 
when  she  finds  the  gate  barred  behind  her,  she  gives 
herself  up  for  lost ;  but  no  one  seems  to  observe  her  in 
her  undistinguished  armour,  and  she  is  ^valking  unper- 
ceived away  from  among  the  Christians,  when  Tancred, 
who  had  seen  her  cut  down  one  of  them,  follows  and 
overtakes  her  before  she  can  reach  the  postern  at  which 
she  is  aimnig.  He,  deceived  like  the  rest  by  the  absence 
of  the  silver  tigress,  thinks  he  has  before  him  a  brave  pay- 
nim  knight,  and  feels  a  wish  for  a  passage  at  arms  witli 
him.  His  challenge  is  accepted.  Seeing  his  foe  on  foot, 
he  courteously  dismounts  from  his  charger,  and  a  single 
combat  begins,  so  nobly  fought  that  it  deserved  rescuing 
from  the  obscurity  in  which  the  night  involved  it. 


SINGLE   COMBAT   OF   CLORINDA   AND   TANCIiED.      155 

55. 
"  No  will  have  they  to  parry  or  retreat, 

Or  shun  a  blow ;  for  skill  has  here  no  place. 
No  strokes  now  feigned,  now  full,  now  scantling,  beat, — 

The  darkness  and  their  rage  leave  art  no  space ; 
Their  swords  half-way  with  horrid  clangour  meet. 

Their  feet  one  footprint  keep,  none  backward  trace ; 
Their  hands  still  moving,  feet  aye  firm  remain, — 
No  cut  descends,  no  thrust  is  made,  in  vain. 

57. 

Thrice  in  his  stalwart  arms  that  maid  the  knight 
Presses  full  close  ;  as  often  she  the  grasp 

Loosens  of  that  embrace  so  cleaving  tight, — 
Fierce  foe's  embrace,  not  lover's  tender  clasp. 

Their  swords  once  more  then  plying,  they  their  light 
Bedim  in  many  wounds  :  with  panting  gasp, 

Wearied  and  faint,  both  at  the  last  retire. 

And  after  their  long  toil  awhile  respire. 

58. 
Each  on  the  other  looks,  the  blood-drained  weight 

Of  his  own  body  on  his  sword-hilt  throwing. 
Now  waxes  pale  that  star  which  shines  most  late, 

Before  dawn's  earliest  fire  in  orient  glowing, 
Tancred  beholds  his  foeman's  blood  more  great 

In  stream,  his  own  from  fewer  wounds  outflowing,--   • 
Grows  glad  and  proud  at  it.     Ah !  foolish  mind 
Of  man,  upraised  by  fortune's  every  Mdnd ! 

59. 
Wretch!  wherefore  joy'st  thou?    Ah!  how  sad  shall  be 

Thy  triumph,  and  thy  boastings  luckless  all ! 
If  life  be  left  thee,  from  thine  eyes  a  sea 

Of  tears  for  each  drop  of  that  blood  shall  fall." 

In  this  breathing -time   Tancred  invites  his   adversary, 
whose  valour  has  thoroughly  won  his  respect,  to  make 


156  -  TASSO. 

known  his  name,  that,  whether  vanquished  or  victor,  he 
may  know  who  gives  honour  to  his  victory,  or  receives 
it  from  his  defeat.  Clorinda's  reply  is  a  fierce  refusal. 
"  But,"  adds  she,  "  whoever  I  may  be,  I  am  one  of  the 
two  who  set  the  great  tower  on  fire." 

62. 

"  Ire  to  their  hearts  returns  and  back  to  war 

Bears  them,  though  weak  and  weary.     Conflict  dread 

Whence  strength  has  died,  whence  art  is  banished  far, 
Where  fury  fights  alone  in  both  their  stead ! 

Portals  how  bloody  and  how  spacious !  mar 
Their  arms  and  flesh,  where'er  with  gashes  red 

Each  sword  strikes  home  :  if  life  her  steps  arrest 

And  go  not  out,  wrath  binds  her  to  each  breast. 

63. 

As  the  Egean  deep,  though  North  Wind  cease, 
Or  South,  which  tossed  it  all  and  shook  before, 

Grows  not  the  calmer,  but  without  release 

Its  troubled  waves  still  swollen  break  and  roar ; 

E'en  so,  though  as  their  veins  the  blood-stream  flees 
The  strength  that  nerved  their  arms  to  blows  gives  o'er, 

They  own  the  former  imj^ulse  yet,  and  still 

Keep  adding,  as  it  bids  them,  ill  to  ill. 

64. 

But  now,  behold  arrived  the  fatal  hour 

That  ends  Clorinda's  life.     In  angry  mood 
His  sword's  point  through  her  bosom  fair  with  power 

He  thrusts,  which  greedy,  plunged  there,  drinks  her  blood, 
And  the  vest  wrought  with  many  a  golden  flower 

(Her  breast's  soft  cincture  light)  fills  with  hot  flood. 
Now  feels  she  o'er  her  spirit  death  prevailing  ; 
Languid  and  sick  her  weary  foot  is  failing. 

65. 
He  follows  up  his  victory,  with  threat 
Upon  the  wounded  maiden  pressing  nigh. 


clokinda's  baptism.  157 

She,  while  she  fell,  her  weak  voice  raised  till  met 
Her  latest  words  his  ear  ;  words  taught  her  by 
A  spirit  new  within  her  heart  as  yet, — 
Spirit  of  Faith,  of  Hope,  of  Charity  : 
Power  breathed  by  God,  who  chooses  one  defying 
His  law  through  life,  now  for  His  handmaid  dying. 

66. 
'  Friend,  thou  hast  conquered  :  I  forgive  thee  ;— so 

Forgive  thou  too,  not  this  now  fearless  clay,— 
Nay,  but  my  soul ;  pray  for  it,  and  bestow 

Baptism  to  wash  my  every  sin  away.' 
In  these  weak  accents  sounds  a  note  of  woe 

And  sweetness  past  the  power  of  man  to  say, 
Which  goes  down  to  his  heart,  his  anger  quells, 
His  eyes  to  tears  disposes  and  compels. 

67. 
No  long  way  off  from  out  the  mountain's  breast 

Trickled  with  murmurs  forth  a  little  rill : 
He  ran  there,  filled  his  helm,  and  that  behest 

Holy  and  high  turned  sadly  to  fulfil. 
He  felt  his  hand  all  tremulous  divest, 

And  give  to  sight  that  brow  though  unknown  still. 
He  saw  her,  knew  her  ;  voice  before  that  vision, 
And  motion  Hed.     Sad  sight  !  sad  recognition  1 

68. 
Kor  died  he  yet ;  rather  his  every  power 

To  guard  his  heart  he  in  that  moment  drew. 
And,  forcing  down  his  anguish,  turned  to  dower 

With  life  through  water  whom  his  weapon  slew. 
While  he  the  sacred  words  pronounced  that  hour 
Her  joy-changed  face  a  smile  of  rapture  knew  : 
She  seemed  to  say,  blithe  amidst  dying,^ '  Lo  I 
Heaven  opens  to  me,  and  in  peace  I  go.' 

69. 
Then  pallor,  beauteous  still,  her  forehead  white 
Tinges,  as  violets  among  lilies  thrown  ; 


158  TASSO. 

Her  eyes  on  heaven  are  fixed,  and  on  that  sight 
Of  pity  heaven  and  sun  seem,  gazing  down  : 

Her  cold,  bare  hand  uplifted  toward  the  knight 
In  place  of  any  words  his  peace  makes  known, 

Sure  pledged.     Thus  passes  from  the  earth  away 

That  beauteous  maid,  as  if  asleep  she  lay." 

Tancred  falls  as  if  dead  beside  her,  and  is  carried  back 
to  the  camp,  along  with  Clorinda's  dead  body,  by  a 
party  of  foragers.  When  his  senses  return,  the  sight  of 
the  ruin  which  his  hand  has  wrought  makes  him  tear 
the  bandages  from  his  wounds,  and  refuse  to  live.  The 
venerable  Peter's  stern  remonstrance  withholds  him  from 
hastening  to  a  "double  death;"  but  his  lamentations 
continue. 

90. 

"  Her,  at  the  setting,  or  the  rising,  sun. 

With  wearied  voice  he  calls,  and  prays  and  weeps  ; 
As  nightingale,  when  churlish  hand  has  won 

Her  callow  brood  from  out  her  nest,  aye  keeps 
Sad  watch  alone,  wailing  till  night  be  done, — 

The  while  her  mournful  song  in  sorrow  steeps 
The  air  and  groves.     At  last  as  day  appears 
His  eyes  close,  sleep  glides  into  them  through  tears 

91. 

Lo !  in  a  dream,  wdth  starry  robe,  is  seen 

By  him  the  lady  of  so  many  sighs — 
Far  lovelier  grown  ;  but  that  celestial  sheen 

Adorns,  not  hides  her  features  from  his  eyes. 
With  tender  pity  in  her  face  serene 

She  seems  to  say,  while  all  his  tears  she  dries : 
'  Behold  my  beauty  and  my  joy  ;  thus  blest. 
Faithful  and  loved,  charm  all  thy  grief  to  rest. 


TANCRED'S    vision    of    CLOlllNDA.  159 


92. 

'  Such  am  I,  thine  the  gift ;  thine  erring  hand 
Snatched  me  from  out  the  mortal  company ; 

Thy  pious  care  of  saints  immortal  band, 

In  God's  own  bosom,  made  me  member  free. 

There  raised,  all  rapt  in  loving  bliss  I  stand  ; 
There  too  I  hope  a  place  prepared  for  thee, 

Where  thou  in  the  great  Sun,  the  Day  eterne. 

His  beauties,  and  mine  own,  shalt  glad  discern, 

93. 

'  If  thine  ownself  thou  envy  not  the  skies, 
Nor,  thine  own  erring  senses  following,  stray. 

Live,  know  I  love  thee,  nor  my  love  disguise. 
As  much  as  ought  created  love  we  may.' 

Thus  while  she  spoke  zeal  flashed  from  out  her  eyes, 
In  brightness  far  transcending  earthly  ray ; 

Then  hid  she  from  him  in  her  depth  of  light. 

And  with  fresh  comfort  vanished  from  his  sight." 

Cheered  by  this  vision,   Tancred  rouses  himself   to 
crive  the  order  for  Clorinda's  funeral ;   attended  by  the 

o 

crusaders  in  the  pomp  of  a  long  torch-light  procession, 
in  which  her  arms  are  borne  to  be  suspended  above 
her  grave.  By  that  grave,  so  soon  as  his  weakness 
permits,  he  is  himself  found  weeping,  and  vowing 
his  unalterable  fidelity  to  his  lost  lady,  both  in  life 
and  death. 

99. 

"  Loving  I  shall  depart  :  day  happy  found 
Whene'er  it  be,  but  yet  more  highly  blest 
If,  as  I  wander  now  thy  grave  around, 
I  then  be  gathered  in  upon  thy  breast. 


160  TASSO. 

Friends  be  our  souls  in  heaven  together  bound. 

Our  ashes  sepulchred  together  rest. 

That  which  life  never  had  let  death  obtain  : 
0  glorious  fate !  if  such  my  hopeful  gain." 

— Canto  XII. 

Xews  of  the  sad  disaster  has  meantime  reached  Jeru- 
salem. Argantes,  inconsolable  at  not  having  been  at 
hand  to  protect  his  noble  sister-in-arms,  vows  at  least  to 
revenge  her  death  on  Tancred ;  and  his  public  promise 
to  that  effect  consoles  the  populace,  who  had  been 
lamenting  their  brave  defender's  fall  with  wailings,  sad 
as  if  their  city  were  already  taken. 

It  is  little  that  any  translation  can  do  to  exhibit  the 
tender  beauty  and  pathetic  sweetness  with  which  Tasso 
has  delineated  the  unique  situation  which,  unbeliolden 
to  his  wonted  precedents,  he  has  here  devised — which, 
in  any  version  nevertheless,  by  the  singular  interest  of 
the  story  arrests  the  reader's  attention.  The  Achilles  of 
the  lost  ^thiopis  reverenced  in  death  a  beauty  which, 
in  the  living  Penthesilea,  had  left  his  heart  untouched. 
The  Camilla  of  Virgil  is  slain  by  the  hand  of  one  wholly 
indifferent  to  her  charms.  While,  in  modern  poetry, 
Marphisa,  Bradamante,  and  Eritomart  come  unscathed 
and  unscarred  out  of  their  many  perils ;  and  the  trium- 
phant daughter  of  Aymon,  after  war's  alarms  are  over, 
weds  (as  does  Spenser's  Amazon)  her  chosen  knight  in 
peace.  It  was  reserved  to  Tasso  to  think  of  a  death 
the  most  heartrending,  and  yet  the  most  honourable, 
for  his  pure-minded  and  grand  heroine,  and  of  a  close, 
sad  beyond  expression,  for  his  hero's  hopeless  and 
chivalric  devotion ; — to  bring  about,  in  the  simplest  and 
most  natural  way  possible,  an  unspeakable  tragedy,  and 


THE    EPISODES    UNIQUE    BEAUTY.  IGl 

yet  at  the  same  time  to  calm  the  reader's  grief  and  his 
own  by  the  glorious  sight  of  an  opening  heaven ;  of 
healing  waters  bestowing  life  from  the  hand  which 
dealt  death ;  of  a  soul  departing  enlightened  by  death's 
approach,  and  seeking  just  in  time  the  passport  to  the 
life  everlasting. 


F.C. XVI. 


162 


CHAPTEE     XIV. 


THE    ENCHANTED    FOREST — RINALDO's   RECALL. 


While  there  is  weeping  in  Jerusalem  for  Clorincla's  loss, 
Ismeno  is  hard  at  work  trying  to  secure  the  fruits  of  her 
last  enterprise.  He  knows  that  the  crusaders  must 
replace  their  lost  engines  with  timber  taken  from  the 
gloomy  forest  which  still  clothes  some  of  the  valleys  near; 
so  he  betakes  himself  there  by  night,  and  summons  the 
evil  spirits  with  spells  as  potent  as  those  of  Lucan's 
Witch  to  guard  its  trees. 

6. 

"  He  in  the  circle  set  one  foot  unshod, 

And  whispered  dreadful  charms  in  ghastly  wise ; 

Three  times  (for  witchcraft  loveth  numbers  odd) 
Toward  the  east  he  turned,  and  westward  thrice  ; 

He  struck  the  earth  thrice  with  his  charmed  rod, 

Wherewith  dead  bones  he  makes  from  graves  to  rise ; 

And  thrice  the  ground  with  naked  foot  he  smote ; 

And  thus  he  cried  aloud  with  thundering  note  : 

7. 
'  Hear!  hear!  ye  spirits  all  that  whilome  fell. 

Cast  down  from  heaven  with  dint  of  roaring  thunder ; 
Hear !  ye  amid  the  empty  air  that  dwell, 

And  storms  and  showers  pour  on  these  kingdoms  under  ; 


ENCHANTMENT    OF    THE    FOREST.  IGl 

Hear !  all  ye  devils  that  lie  in  deepest  hell, 

And  rend  with  torments  damned  ghosts  asunder  : 
And,  of  those  lands  of  death,  of  pain,  and  fear. 
Thou  monarch  great,  great  Dis,  great  Pluto,  hear  1 


*  Keep  ye  this  forest  well,  keep  every  tree  ; 

Numbered  I  give  you  them,  and  truly  told ; 
As  souls  of  men  in  bodies  clothed  be, 

So  every  plant  a  sprite  shall  hide  and  hold  : 
With  trembling  fear  make  all  the  Christians  flee 

"When  they  presume  to  cut  these  cedars  old.' 
This  said,  his  charms  he  'gan  again  repeat. 
Which  none  can  say  but  they  that  use  like  feat." — (F.) 

His  words  make  night's  torches  turn  pale,  the  moon 
wrap  herself  in  clouds;  and,  at  his  call  a  second  time 
repeated,  the  demons  rise  and  accept  the  charge.  The 
effect  soon  appears.  The  Franks  go  next  day  to  cut 
the  trees,  but  are  driven  back  dismayed  by  fearful 
prodigies.  A  guard  of  chosen  warriors  escort  the  men 
once  more  to  their  labours ;  and  return  to  report  that  a 
heart  begirt  with  triple  adamant  could  hardly  bear  to 
hear  the  roarings  and  howlings,  mingled  with  voice  of 
trumpet  and  sound  as  of  thunder,  that  issue  from  the 
wood's  mysterious  depths.  A  soldier,  named  Alcasto, 
w^ho  boasts  a  breast  insensible  to  alarm,  volunteers,  de- 
riding the  rest,  to  go  and  hew"  down  the  first  tree.  He 
indeed  resists  the  horror  of  the  strange  noises,  but,  as 
he  prepares  to  enter  the  enchanted  circle,  a  wall  of  fire 
rises  suddenly  to  enclose  it,  and  from  its  blazing  turrets 
ghastly  monsters  aim  flaming  darts  at  him;  so  that 
Alcasto  slowly,  and  sorely  against  his  will,  retreats  like 
a  lion  from  his  hunters,  and  makes  known  his  shame  to 
Godfrey. 


164  TASSO. 

During  the  next  tliree  days  the  bravest  in  the  camp 
essay  the  adventure,  but  without  success.  Then  at 
last  Tancred,  faint  yet  with  loss  of  blood  and  sorrow, 
goes  forth  to  try  his  fortune.  He  listens  little  moved 
to  the  sound  which  has  scared  so  many;  the  fiery 
bulwarks  present  to  him  no  insuperable  obstacle,  since, 
rather  than  disappoint  the  hopes  which  are  fixed  on 
him,  he  boldly  leaps  into  the  flames,  and  his  courage 
is  rewarded  by  their  vanishing.  Penetrating  then  un- 
disturbed into  the  farthest  recesses  of  the  forest,  he  finds 
himself  standing  before  a  lofty  cypress  with  strange 
characters  engraven  on  its  barli  :  only  those  written  in 
Syriac  could  be  understood  by  Tancred  : — 

"  0  hardy  knight !  who  through  these  woods  hast  passed 
Where  death  his  palace  and  his  court  doth  hold  : 
O  trouble  not  these  souls  in  quiet  placed ! 

0  be  not  cruel  as  thy  heart  is  bold ! 
Pardon  these  ghosts  deprived  of  heavenly  light ; 
With  spirits  dead  why  should  men  living  fight  ? " — (F.) 

—Canto  XII  I. 

And  while  Tancred  ponders  on  the  meaning  of  these 
words,  a  sighing,  sobbing  sound  arises  amid  the  trees  ; 
his  heart  seems  about  to  melt  with  sorrow  and  pity, 
and  he  can  only  withstand  the  feeling  by  aiming  a 
violent  blow  at  the  lofty  cypress.  Straightway  follows 
the  Yirgilian  marvel  of  blood  gushing  from  the  wounded 
trunk.  Kor  is  that  the  worst ;  for  next  comes  a  voice 
which  seems  that  of  Clorinda,  complaining  bitterly  that 
the  cruel  hand  that  deprived  her  of  life  is  pursuing  her 
forlorn  spirit  into  this  its  last  resting-place.  "  jSTor 
I  alone,"  it  adds,  "  but  all  the  spirits  of  those  slain 
in  this  siege  have  been  bound  in  these  trees  by  enchant- 


tancked's  failure.  1C5 

ment.  Thou  art  a  murderer  if  thou  cuttest  down  one 
of  them."  The  knight,  like  the  half -delirious  i^atient 
who  sees  dragon  and  chimera  dire,  half  suspecting  the 
falsehood  of  the  apparition,  yet  half  believing  in  it, 
knows  indeed  that  his  dear  lady  is  far  beyond  the  reach 
of  such  evil  spells,  yet  cannot  help  acting  as  if  she 
were  really  bound  by  them;  and  retires,  leaving  the 
adventure  unaccomplished. 

It  is  then  that  the  Hermit  Peter  announces  to  the 
disappointed  chiefs  that  its  successful  conclusion  is  re- 
served to  another  hand,  even  Einaldo's ;  and  that  both 
it  and  the  capture  of  the  city  now  draw  on  apace.  It  is 
shortly  after,  in  answer  to  Godfrey's  prayers,  a  season- 
able rain  has  relieved  the  sufferings  of  his  soldiers  from 
drou^dit,  that  a  vision  directs  him  to  commit  Einaldo's 
recall  (accorded  at  his  uncle  Guelph's  request)  to  Peter's 
direction ;  who  easily  finds  two  volunteers  to  carry  the 
message.  One  of  them  is  Charles,  the  bearer  of  Sweyn's 
sword  to  his  destined  avenger ;  the  other  the  accom- 
plished Ubaldo.  These  are  sent  to  a  solitary  at  Ascalon ; 
where  a  venerable  man,  with  beechen  crown  and  long 
white  linen  robe,  announces  himself  to  be  the  sage  of 
whom  they  are  in  search,  by  passing  a  swoUen  river  dry- 
shod,  as  he  waves  a  mystic  wand.  He  is  a  Christian, 
and  his  arts  are  the  w^hite  magic,  which  depends  on  a 
knowledge  of  nature's  mysteries.  He  leads  them  far 
down  to  his  marvellous  abode  near  the  centre  of  the 
earth,  where  aU  rivers  have  their  som-ce,  and  where,  in  a 
light  Avhich  is  neither  that  of  sun  or  moon,  all  gems 
are  sparkling  ;  where  the  celestial  sapphire  quivers  blue, 
the  carbuncle  flames,  the  emerald  glows  gladly,  and  the 
diamond  burns  with  steady  light.     Here,  after  a  feast 


1G6  TASSO. 

served  by  unseen  hands  in  gold  dishes  and  crystal 
goblets  on  a  table  of  silver,  the  tale  of  Rinaldo's  adven- 
tures is  told. 

Armida,  resolved  to  avenge  on  him  the  deliverance  of 
her  captives,  laid  a  snare  for  him,  into  which  he  fell. 
But  the  chains  in  which  she  bound  him  were  garlands 
of  flowers ;  for  his  manly  beauty,  as  he  slumbered  in 
her  toils,  won  the  heart  to  which  so  many  knights  had 
laid  siege  in  vain,  and  she  forgot  her  vengeance  and 
her  plots  in  love.  She  has  transported  him  in  her  magic 
chariot  to  the  distant  Fortunate  Isles,  where  they  are 
now  passing  thcK  days  in  a  dream  of  delight. 

The  sage  gives  Charles  and  XJbaldo  exact  directions 
how  to  proceed,  and  a  potent  wand,  which  can  subdue 
Armida's  sj^ells  ;  and  next  morning  he  puts  them  on  board 
a  barque, — steered  by  a  beautiful  woman,  on  whose  robe 
the  light  plays  with  ever -changing  colours  (Fortune 
herself), — which  flies  with  incredible  velocity  over  the 
waters  of  the  Mediterranean.  One  noted  place  on  its 
shore  is  passed  after  another.  As  their  guide  points  out 
to  them  where  once  stood  Carthage,  the  poet  exclaims — 

"  Great  cities  die,  and  famous  kingdoms  die  ; 

Man's  pride  and  pomp  are  hid  by  sand  and  grass  ; 
Yet  man  disdains  his  own  mortality  ! " 

— Canto  XV. 

On  the  fourth  day  from  their  departure  they  pass  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar,  and  hear  a  prophecy  of  Columbus 
and  his  great  discovery.  Then  the  Peak  of  Teneriff"e 
rises  to  view.  One  fair  isle  comes  into  sight  after 
another,  and  at  last  they  land  on  the  loveliest  island  of 
the  whole  group,  uninhabited  save  by  Armida  and  her 


GARDEN    OF    ARMIDA.  167 

attendants ;  whose  paradise,  fair  but  unholy,  occupies  its 
mountain-top. 

The  new  Calypso's  bower,  far  surpassing  the  ancient 
in  its  varied  beauty,  and  more  than  rivalling  Ariosto's 
garden  of  Alcina,  is  fenced  by  rocks,  slippery  with  ice  and 
snoAV.  The  messengers  climb  up  them  to  a  region  of  per- 
petual spring.  Their  golden  wand  puts  to  flight  the 
dragon  and  the  lion  that  guard  its  ever-blooming  roses 
and  lilies,  and  the  herd  of  furious  wild  beasts  that  ramre 
on  the  mountain's  side ;  and  then  the  stately  palace  of 
Armida  rises  to  their  view  beyond  the  flowery  solitude 
on  the  margin  of  a  lake.  They  pass  the  fount  whose 
waters  cause  whoso  drinks  them  to  die  of  laughter,  dis- 
regarding the  song  and  allurements  of  the  dangerous 
ISTaiads,^  wdio  disport  themselves  therein ;  go  through 
the  gates,  richly  sculptured  with  the  triumphs  of  love, 
w^hich  display  Hercules  with  lole,  Antony  with  Cleopatra, 
on  their  burnished  silver;  and  thread  the  labyrinthine 
mazes  within  their  enclosure.  They  extricate  themselves 
from  them  by  the  help  of  the  friendly  magician's  book, 
and  find  themselves  at  last  in  the  garden  of  delight, 
graced  by — 

"  The  painted  flowers,  the  trees  upshooting  high, 
The  dales  for  shade,  the  hills  for  breathing  space, 
The  trembling  groves,  the  crystal  running  by  ; 
And  that  which  all  fair  works  doth  most  aggrace, 

The  art  which  all  that  wrought,  appeared  in  no  place."  ^ 


1  The  reader  will  find  tliem  portrayed  in  Spenser's  "Faerj'  Queen," 
Book  II.,  Canto  12. 

2  Spenser's  somewhat  free  hnt  heautiful  translation  of  this,  and 
stanzas  12, 14,  and  15,  has  been  preferred  (with  two  slight  alterations) 
to  every  other. 


1G8  TASSO. 

There  the  same  stem  bears  blossoms,  as  well  as  partly 
and  wholly  ripened  fruit.     There,  too — 

12. 

"  The  joyous  birds,  shrouded  in  cheerful  shade, 
Their  notes  in  wanton  song  attempered  sweet ; 
The  murmuring  breeze  the  leaves  and  waters  made 
By  varied  touch  in  gentle  converse  meet. 

The  water's  fall  with  difference  discreet, 
Now  soft,  now  loud,  unto  the  wind  did  call ; 
The  gentle,  warbling  wind  low  answered  to  all. 

14. 

The  whiles  one  bird  did  chaunt  this  lovely  lay : 
*  Ah  !  see,  whoso  fair  thing  dost  fain  to  see, 

In  springing  flower  the  image  of  thy  day  : 
Ah  !  see  the  virgin  rose  how  sweetly  she 
Doth  first  peep  forth  with  bashful  modesty, 

That  fairer  seems  the  less  ye  see  her  may ; 
Lo  !  see  soon  after  how  made  bold  and  free 

Her  bared  bosom  she  doth  broad  display ; 
Lo  !  see  soon  after,  how  she  fades  and  falls  away. 

15. 

*  So  passeth  in  the  passing  of  a  day 

Of  mortal  life  the  leaf,  the  bud,  the  flower, 
Ne  more  doth  flourish  after  first  decay, 

That  erst  was  sought  to  deck  both  bed  and  bower 

Of  many  a  lady,  many  a  paramour  : 
Gather,  therefore,  the  rose  whilst  yet  is  prime. 

For  soon  comes  age  that  will  her  pride  deflower  ; 
Gather  the  rose  of  love,  whilst  yet  is  time. 
Whilst  loving  thou  mayst  loved  be  with  equal  crime.'  " 

The  chorus  of  birds  respond  with  notes  of  love  :  love 
seems  to  breathe  from  every  tree,  and  to  fill  both  earth 
and  air.     But,  rigid  and  unbending  as  beseems  the  mes- 


THE    ROUSING    OF    PJNALDO.  169 

sengers  of  fate,  the  chosen  pair  move  on,  insensible  to  all 
these  allurements,  until  the  trees  part  and  disclose  to 
them  Einaldo,  alternately  kissing  Armida  and  mirroring 
hunself  m  her  eyes,  as  they  repose  together  on  the  flowery 
grass.  Unseen,  they  watch  for  the  moment  when  the 
enchantress  leaves  him  alone  for  a  while,  and  goes  to 
revieAV  her  written  spells.  Then  the  knights  spruig 
from  their  ambush.  Einaldo  starts,  like  Achilles  among 
Deidameia's  maidens,  at  the  sight  of  their  flashing  armour, 
and  blushes  as  he  beholds  in  Ubaldo's  polished  shield, 
held  up  before  him  as  a  mirror,  his  o^vn  effeminate  array, 
and  sword  rusting,  wreathed  with  roses.  Waking  as  from 
a  dream,  Einaldo,  stung  by  the  cavalier's  reproaches,  tears 
off  the  garlands  which  disgrace  him,  traverses  the  laby- 
rinth with  his  mentors,  and  hastens  to  the  shore. 

His  retreat  is  seen  in  the  distance  by  Armida,  who  in- 
stantly tries  to  stop  it  by  her  magic  arts.  But  they  prove 
powerless  against  a  strength  and  wisdom  both  greater  than 
her  own.  Then  she  leaves  her  incantations  to  try  the 
charm  of  suppliant  and  distressed  beauty.  She  who,  till 
she  became  enamoured  of  Einaldo,  had  "  turned  and  over- 
turned Love's  kingdom  at  her  ^vill,  hating  all  lovers,  and 
loving  herself  alone,  now  neglected,  scorned,  and  aban- 
doned, follows  him,  who  despises  and  flees  from  her." 
Her  pleadings  are  as  passionate  as  Dido's:  they  move 
the  heart  to  w^hich  they  are  addressed  no  more  than  hers 
did.  Even  Armida^s  offers  to  follow  Einaldo  as  a  captive 
handmaid,  to  be  to  him  in  battle  either  shield-bearer  or 
shield,  and  die  for  his  love,  since  she  may  no  longer  live 
for  it,  awaken,  so  Tasso  tells  us,  compassion  only,  not 
love,  in  a  breast  wholly  congealed  by  reason.  Einaldo's 
refusal  shows  a  regard  for  appearances,  and  the   cold 


170  TASSO. 

courtesy  of  his  offer  to  "be  Armida's  knight,  so  far  as  his 
rehgion,  honour,  and  warlike  engagements  will  permit, 
reveals  an  estrangement  which  may  well  exasperate 
this  new  Medea,  turned  so  suddenly  from  the  victorious 
enchantress  into  the  defeated  and  deserted  woman.  Her 
outburst  of  wrath,  her  curses  on  her  betrayer,  rival 
Dido's,  and  then  she  falls  fainting  on  the  sand. 

She  recovers,  to  find  herself  alone.  Then  she  resolves 
to  revenge  herself  at  any  price  on  Kinaldo,  and  determines 
to  return  to  Asia  for  the  purpose.  But  she  has  one  work 
to  do  first.  With  dishevelled  hair,  her  lovely  face  dis- 
torted by  rage,  she  goes  back  through  her  rich  gates  and 
sumptuous  corridors. 

68. 
"  Soon  as  she  reached  her  halls,  with  summons  dread, 
She  called  th'  infernal  gods  unto  her  aid. 
Then  o'er  the  sky  black  clouds  their  pall  dispread, 

And  straight  the  sun  grew  pale  with  ghastly  shade, 
The  wind's  fierce  blast  shook  every  mountain's  head, 

While  hell  beneath  a  sudden  roaring  made  ; 
And  through  the  palace  wide,  nought  met  the  ear 
Save  noises,  bowlings,  murmurs,  shrieks  of  fear. 

69. 

Then  darker  shade  than  gloom  of  starless  night, 

Egyptian-like  wrapped  the  gay  courts  around, 

"     Pierced  here  and  there  by  lightning,  gleaming  bright 

One  instant  'mid  the  murky  mists  profound. 

Then  cleared  the  shade  at  last ;  the  sun  with  light 

Pallid  broke  through  the  air,  still  sorrow-drowned  ; 
But  of  the  palace  there  appeared  no  trace, 
Nor  could  men  say — This  was  of  old  its  place. 

70. 
E'en  as  the  clouds  build  works  that  will  not  last 
To  image  some  enormous  pile  in  air, 


ARMIDAS    RAGE. 


171 


By  winds  soon  scattered,  by  sun  melted  fast,— 
As  fly  the  dreams  that  sick  men's  couches  scare,— 

So  speedily  from  sight  that  dwelling  past, 
Leaving  the  mount  in  native  wildness  bare. 

Then  on  her  ready  chariot  she  on  high. 

As  was  her  wont,  soared  upward  through  the  sky." 

—Canto  XVl. 


172 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

EIXALDO'S  RETURN CAPTURE  OF  THE  CITY. 

While  Armida,  true  to  her  threats,  was  presenting  her- 
self to  the  King  of  EgyjDt  at  Gaza,  and  there  offering  her 
hand  as  a  prize  to  the  one  among  the  captains  of  his 
enormous  army,  assembled  for  the  relief  of  Jerusalem, 
who  should  succeed  in  slaying  Rinaldo,  her  fugitive 
lover  had  been  welcomed  by  the  sage  of  Ascalon,  pro- 
vided by  him  with  resplendent  arms, — the  shield  adorned 
by  his  ancestors'  exploits, — and  entreated  to  remember 
that,  "  not  amid  nynijohs  and  sirens,  among  founts  and 
flowers,  but  on  the  summit  of  the  steep  and  rugged  hill 
of  Virtue,  lies  man's  haj^piness ; "  had  made  his  public 
submission  to  Godfrey,  received  solemn  absolution  from 
Peter,  and  gone  to  accomplish  the  enterprise  of  the 
enchanted  forest.  An  easy  one  in  his  case ;  for  his 
new-born  austerity  enables  him  to  cross  the  golden 
bridge,  which  leads  him  through  a  wilderness  of  flowers, 
to  behold  the  hundred  lovely  ladies,  who  start  forth 
from  as  many  trees  to  welcome  him  with  dance  and 
song,  and  even  to  gaze  on  the  semblance  of  Armida 
issuing  from  a  great  myrtle -tree  in  their  midst  Avith 
mingled    endearments    and   rej^roaches,    without    being 


EIXALDO    FIRST    SCALES    THE    WALL.  173 

turned  from  his  purpose.  The  hundred-armed  giant 
and  hideous  Cyclops,  into  which  these  bewitching  forms 
change  when  Einaldo  begins  to  assaidt  the  central  tree, 
afifect  him  as  little  :  it  falls  amid  spectral  illusions,  storm 
and  earthquake  ;  and,  the  spell  once  broken,  the  forest 
ceases  to  be  haimted,  and  the  wood-cutter's  work  goes 
on  in  it  unhindered. 

Soon  three  movable  towers  replace  the  lost  one,  and 
Einaldo  has  a  prospect  of  using  the  sword  of  Sweyn 
against  his  slayer.  For  Godfrey,  the  head  of  the  crusad- 
ing host,  having  in  him  i;ecovered  its  right  hand,  makes 
haste  to  strike  with  it  before  the  arrival  of  the  Egyptian 
army,  which  an  intercepted  letter, — the  carrier-pigeon 
that  bore  it,  chased  by  a  falcon,  took  refuge  among  the 
Christians, — shows  to  be  imminent. 

Amid  a  cloud  of  poisoned  arrows,  and  stones  and 
darts  discharged  from  catapult  and  balista,  the  mighty 
engines  of  offence  are  brought  up  to  the  walls  of 
the  doomed  city;  the  battering-rams  shake  them  from 
below,  the  towers  grapple  their  summits  with  their  draw- 
bridges. AYhile  the  other  great  commanders  are  fighting 
from  them,  Einaldo  boldly  leads  his  brother  adventurers 
to  the  place  where  the  walls  are  highest  and  most  diffi- 
cult, making  a  pent-house  of  their  shields.  Planting  a 
ladder  there,  he  ascends  it  alone ;  his  friends  emulating 
his  courage,  but  at  first  with  worse  success.  A  forest  of 
darts,  a  mountain  of  stones,  are  shaken  off  the  intrepid 
warrior's  shield  and  armour,  before  he  grasps  the  toj^most 
battlement  with  one  hand,  with  the  other  rei^elling  its 
defenders,  and  finally  plants  his  foot  on  the  subjugated 
summit.  Another  moment  and  Eustace,  by  his  help, 
places  himself  beside  him. 


174  TASSO. 

Meantime  the  fight  between  the  occupants  of  Godfrey's 
tower  and  the  besieged,  who  seek  to  destroy  it  by  counter 
engines  and  by  Greek  fire,  has  been  a  severe  one.  Ismeno 
the  enchanter, — a  witch  on  either  side, — like  Pluto  be- 
tween two  Fiu-ies,  tries  to  control  the  wind,  which  is 
driving  the  flames  back  against  the  defenders,  and  is 
miserably  destroyed  by  a  vast  stone  from  a  catapult, 
which  shatters  him  and  his  companions.  But  as  the 
tower,  having  escaped  the  fire,  lets  doAvn  its  bridge  upon 
the  wall,  Solyman  still  strives  to  cut  it  asunder,  in  spite 
of  the  darts  rained  down  on  him  from  an  upper  turret 
Avhich  rises  at  this  critical  moment  by  machinery  from 
the  midst.  Godfrey  goes  to  encounter  him,  emboldened 
by  the  archangel  Michael's  whisper,  that  the  hour  for 
Zion's  deliverance  has  come ;  and  by  the  glorious  vision 
which  his  purged  eyes  behold  of  his  deceased  comrades- 
in-arms,  and  the  host  of  the  angels  of  God  behind  them, 
all  fighting  on  his  side.  "  Cut  the  bridge  behind  us, 
and  let  me  take  the  Frank  general's  life  at  the  cost  of 
my  own,"  cries  Solyman,  desperately.  But  Einaldo  and 
his  troop  advance  before  his  men  can  obey  the  order, 
and  disperse  them ;  so  that  the  Turk  has  to  leave  the 
road  open  to  Godfrey,  who  plants  the  victorious  standard 
of  the  Cross  upon  the  wall.  Tancred  does  the  same,  a 
moment  later,  on  the  wall  opposed  to  his  tower ;  and, 
seeing  the  town  taken,  the  old  king  retreats  before  Bay- 
mond  of  Toulouse. 

The  besieged  seek  shelter,  now  their  walls  are  forced, 
in  two  strong  places,  —  the  Mosque  of  Omar,  and  the 
citadel  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the  Tower  of  David. 
Rinaldo  batters  open  the  door  of  the  former,  and  the 
fugitives  within  are  slain.     But  Count  Eaymond  is  not 


AEGA^TES    CHALLENGES    TANCRED.  175 

equally  successful  with  the  other  fortress.  Old  Aladdin 
at  first  hesitated  to  follow  Solyman  to  its  shelter,  for — 

"  '  Alas  ! '  (quoth  he)  '  alas  !  for  this  fair  town, 

Which  cruel  war  beats  down  ev'n  with  the  plain  : 

My  life  is  done,  mine  empire  trodden  down  ; 
I  reigned,  I  lived,  but  now  nor  live  nor  reign ; 

For  now,  alas  !  behold  the  fatal  hour 

That  ends  our  lives,  and  ends  our  kingly  power.'  " — (F.) 

But  the  undaunted  Soldan,  after  putting  him  inside, 
stands,  mace  in  hand,  on  the  threshold,  and  there  over- 
throws and  wellnigh  captures  Raymond  among  many 
slain ;  so  that  the  assault  of  the  citadel  has  to  be  left  for 
the  morrow. 

Argantes,  meantime,  fearing  defeat  more  than  death, 
stands  his  ground  to  the  last;  when,  distinguishing 
Tancred  among  his  foes,  he  cries  scornfully  to  him  : 
"Is  it  thus  you  keep  your  pledged  word?  thus  late, 
and  not  unaccompanied,  that  you  return  to  our  duel  1 
Woman-slayer,  you  shall  not  escape  death  at  my  hand." 
Tancred  willingly  accepts  the  challenge,  bids  Argantes 
follow  him  to  a  place  where  they  can  fight  undisturbed, 
and  guards  his  enemy  from  his  friends  until  they  reach 
a  narrow  Avooded  dale,  enclosed  by  an  amphitheatre  of 
hills.  The  Christian  knight  sees  that  the  pagan  has 
lost  his  shield,  and  throws  away  his  own ;  then  observ- 
ing Argantes  turning,  lost  in  thought,  towards  Jeru- 
salem, he  asks  him  of  what  he  is  thinking.  "  Of  my 
vain  endeavour  to  save  that  ancient  and  regal  city," 
replies  Argantes ;  "  and  how  your  head  is  a  small  vic- 
tim to  console  me  for  its  fall."  Thereupon  the  mortal 
conflict  begins.  Each  combatant  gives  and  receives 
many  cruel  wounds,   the   method    of  which    Tasso  de- 


176  TASSO. 

scribes  with  a  vividness  and  a  force  which  only  a  prac- 
tised swordsman  like  himself  could  have  commanded. 
At  last  Tancred,  seeing  his  adversary's  blood  flowing 
in  torrents  while  his  own  only  runs  in  drops,  bids  him 
yield  to  fortune  rather  than  himself,  and  promises  to 
use  over  him  none  of  a  captor's  rights.  But  Argantes 
scorns  the  offer,  and  uses  his  last  remains  of  strength 
in  a  fearful  blow. 

"  As  a  hot  brand  flames  most  ere  forth  it  go'th, 
And  dying  blazeth  bright  on  every  side  ; 
So  he,  when  blood  was  lost,  with  anger  wroth 

Revived  his  courage  when  his  puissance  died  ; 
And  would  his  latest  hour  which  now  drew  nigh 
Illustrate  with  his  end,  and  nobly  die." — (F.) 

—Canto  XIX. 

The  two-handed  stroke  was  such  that  Tancred  must 
have  felt  fear,  says  the  poet,  had  nature  given  him  a 
heart  which  it  could  enter.  But  Argantes  follows  it 
up  by  a  second,  which  he  missing,  falls ;  while  loss  of 
blood  makes  him  too  weak  to  rise.  Tancred  repeats  his 
courteous  offers,  and  receives  for  answer  a  stealthy 
thrust.  Then  at  last  his  forbearance  fails,  and  he  gives 
the  death-blow  to  his  adversary — who  dies  as  he  lived, 
"  proud,  formidable,  and  ferocious  "  to  the  end.  Tan- 
cred thanks  God  devoutly  for  his  victory,  sheathes  his 
bloody  sword,  and  tries  to  go  back  to  the  city ;  but,  after 
a  few  steps,  he  swoons  away,  and  is  left  by  the  narrator, 
lying  on  the  ground  apparently  as  dead  as  Argantes. 


i  i 


CHAPTEE    XYI. 


THE    EGYPTIAN    HOST. 


The  war-cloud  that  gathered  at  Gaza  is  now  ready  to 
burst  at  Jerusalem.  It  is  with  its  expected  coining  that 
Solynian  cheers  the  hearts  of  the  garrison  of  the  citadel : 
it  is  for  news  of  the  niunbers  and  discipline  of  the 
combined  legions  of  Asia  and  Africa  that  Godfrey 
anxiously  awaits  the  return  of  Tancred's  squire,  Vafrino, 
who  has  been  sent  on  a  secret  mission  to  report  on 
them.  !N^ow  while  this  clever  spy,  moving  about  among 
their  tents,  contrived  to  penetrate  the  pavilion  where 
Armida  sat  sad  and  pensive,  with  tears  in  her  beautiful 
downcast  eyes,  while  the  brave  Tisaphernes,  the  Indian 
Adrasto,  and  Altamore,  King  of  Samarcand,  strove  to 
cheer  her  by  hoj)es  of  speedy  vengeance,  a  damsel  in 
her  train  disclosed  herself  to  him  as  the  long-lost  Her- 
minia.  This  former  captive  of  his  master  had,  on  for- 
saking the  hospitable  shepherd's  cottage,  been  again 
taken  prisoner;  and  this  time  by  Egyptian  marauders, 
whose  chief  had  placed  her  among  Armida's  attendants. 
Vafrino,  at  her  request,  helps  her  to  escape,  and  return 
with  him  to  the  crusading  army,  where  Herminia  OAvns 
that  her  heart  has  always  remained;  and  is  rewarded 

F.C. — XVI.  M 


178  TASSO. 

by  her  for  his  aid  by  the  disclosure  of  an  important 
secret — namely,  how  Emireno,  the  King  of  Egypt's  rene- 
gade-general, has  engaged  the  fierce  Ormondo  and  eight 
others  to  slay  Godfrey  by  assuming  the  white  and  gold 
surcoats  and  cross  of  his  body-guard,  and  so  getting 
close  to  him  unperceived  in  the  approaching  battle. 

In  discourse  on  the  enemy's  designs,  and  in  tender  re- 
miniscences of  how  Tancred  befriended  her  at  Antioch, 
mixed  with  timid  hopes  for  the  future,  Herminia  draws 
near  Jerusalem ;  when  lo  !  the  path  before  her  is  slip- 
pery with  blood,  a  gigantic  form  lies  along  it,  still 
menacing  heaven  with  upturned  but  dead  face,  and 
a  little  way  beyond  lies  another,  at  sight  of  whom  the 
faithful  squire  exclaims,  "  Alas  !  here  is  Tancred  slain." 
Herminia  flings  herself  from  her  horse,  and  her  tears 
fall  fast  and  heavy  on  the  face  which  she  seems  "  doomed 
to  look  at  without  an  answering  look, — to  find  only  to 
lose  for  ever."  But  those  tears  appear  to  have  a  reviv- 
ing power ;  a  faint  groan  answers  her  lamentations. 
"  Look  at  me,  Tancred,"  cries  the  damsel,  "  who  mean 
to  die  with  you, — to  bear  you  comjoany  on  your  long 
journey:  do  not  depart  so  quickly  as  to  leave  me  behind. 
This  is  all  I  ask  of  you."  But  Yafrino  hopes  better 
things  from  his  master's  appearance.  Herminia  binds 
up  his  wounds  with  her  veil  and  her  long  fair  tresses, 
stanches  the  blood  by  a  charm ;  and  his  followers  who 
have  come  to  look  for  him  bear  the  reviving  knight  to 
the  holy  city, — Argantes  to  an  honourable  burial. 

Both  things  are  done  by  Tancred's  express  order ;  for 
his  foeman  was  brave  indeed,  and,  for  himself,  if  die  he 
must,  to  die  where  Christ  died  will  be  best  and  safest. 
However,  not  death,  but  recovery  and  a  happy  union 


CAPTURE    OF    THE    CITADEL.  179 

Avitli  the  fair  lady  who  loved  him  so  tenderly,  are  the 
things  that  in  truth  await  him  there. 

'Next  day  the  Egyptian  army  is  descried  afar ;  on  the 
following  the  Christians  march  forth  to  give  it  battle. 
Each  commander  stirs  up  the  courage  of  his  men  by  a 
speech, — Emireno  addressing  his  many  squadrons  in  many 
languages,  and  offering  them  a  thousand  inducements  to 
fight  bravely;  Godfrey,  like  Caesar  before  Pharsalia,  cheer- 
ing his  compacter  and  better-trained  battalions  by  the 
hope  of  an  easy  victory  over  men  who  scarcely  know  their 
general,  and  whose  very  numbers  will  embarrass  them 
in  the  combat,  yet  whose  defeat  will  end  many  wars  in 
one ;  and  bidding  them  fight  as  they  are  wont,  remem- 
bering alike  the  honour  of  themselves,  of  their  leader, 
and  of  Christ !  Then  the  adverse  hosts  advance  and 
join  battle — the  sight  of  which  raging  fiercely  in  the 
plain  below  draws  Solyman  from  his  retreat  in  the 
citadel.  He  and  Aladdin  sally  forth  to  join  it,  over- 
tlirowing  for  the  second  time  Count  Eaymond  on  guard 
to  prevent  a  sortie ;  and  for  a  season  the  Soldan  deals 
death  and  disaster  among  the  Christians,  slaying  among 
many  others  the  courageous  Gildippe  and  her  faithful 
spouse. 

Eut  Tancred  is  roused  from  his  sick-bed  by  the 
clang  of  arms,  and,  though  too  weak  to  bear  his  armour, 
covers  the  prostrate  Count  of  Toulouse  with  his  shield, 
and  gains  for  the  Toulousans  the  victory  over  the  old 
king.  Eaymond,  rising  with  juvenile  vigour  to  his  feet, 
looks  round  for  Solyman,  and  not  seeing  him,  leads  his 
Gascons  to  defeat  the  paynims,  slays  Aladdin,  and  dis- 
plays the  victorious  standard  of  the  Cross  on  the  top 
of  the  citadel. 


180  TASSO. 

While  this  is  going  on,  Godfrey  (warned  in  time  by 
Vafrino)  has  seen  his  intending  murderers  cut  to  pieces 
by  his  true  body-guard,  and  has  met  the  King  of  Samar- 
cand  and  his  followers  in  vehement  fight, — the  conflict 
on  the  other  wing  and  in  the  centre  raging  equally,  and 
as  yet  undecided. 

51. 

"  Beside  his  lord  slain  lay  the  noble  steed  ; 

There  friend  with  friend  lay  killed  like  lovers  true ; 
There  foe  with  foe,  the  live  under  the  dead, 

The  victor  under  him  whom  late  he  slew. 
A  hoarse  unperfect  sound  did  each  where  spread, 

Whence  neither  silence  nor  plain  outcries  flew ; 
There  fury  roars,  ire  threats,  and  woe  complains, — ■ 
One  weeps,  another  cries,  he  sighs  for  pains. 

52. 
The  arms  that  late  so  fair  and  glorious  seem, 

Now  soiled  and  slubbered,  sad  and  sullen  grow ; 
The  steel  his  brightness  lost,  the  gold  his  beam, 

The  colours  had  no  pride,  nor  beauty's  show  ; 
The  plumes  and  feathers  on  their  crests  that  stream 

Are  strewed  wide  upon  the  earth  below  : 
The  hosts  both  clad  in  blood,  in  dust  and  mire, 
Had  changed  their  cheer,  their  pride,  their  rich  attire." — (F.) 

It  is  now  that,  Godfrey's  right  wing  getting  envel- 
oped by  the  hostile  archers  and  slingers,  Rinaldo  gal- 
lops forward  with  a  shock  as  of  an  earthquake  at  the  head 
of  his  squadron  of  Adventurers,  and  mows  the  enemy's 
broken  trooj)s  down.  Kouting  them  and  the  infantr}' 
behind  them,  he  penetrates  as  far  as  Armida's  gilded 
chariot.  She  sees  him  :  so  does  her  band  of  champio]i 
lovers.  They  attack  him,  and  are  overthrown  or  slain  ; 
she  thrice  draws  her  bow,  and  thrice  drops  her  arrow ; 


DEATH    OF    SOLYMAX.  181 

the  fourth  time  it  leaves  the  string,  but  rebounds,  to 
her  secret  joy,  from  Einaldo's  armour.  Then,  seeing  her 
friends  fallen  round  her,  a  panic  seizes  her,  and  she 
turns  her  car  and  flees,  like  Cleopatra  at  Actium ;  draw- 
ing after  her  to  protect  her  flight  a  second  Antony,  in 
the  person  of  the  stalwart  Altamore,  whose  own  squa- 
dron sufi'ers  a  complete  defeat  in  his  absence.  In  vain 
does  the  Indian  Adrasto  on  the  opposite  wing  get  the 
better  of  his  Christian  opponents.  His  victorious  career 
is  rapidly  cut  short  by  Einaldo,  who  meets  him  on  his 
way  to  execute  Sweyn's  bequest,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  exact  vengeance  for  Gildippe,  and  many  others,  newly 
slain  by  Solyman.  Adrasto's  pompous  challenge,  and  two 
blows  for  Armida's  sake,  are  met  by  a  single  stroke  which 
at  once  deprives  him  of  life;  and  at  the  sight  an  un- 
wonted tremor  invades  the  stout-hearted  Soldan.  Like 
Hector  and  like  Tumus,  he  feels  that  his  hour  has  come, 
and  falls  a  scarcely  resisting  victim  to  .Pdnaldo's  sword. 

Then  victory  declares  along  the  whole  line  for  the 
Christians.  Vainly  is  the  king's  guard  of  immortals 
rallied  by  Emireno  and  Tisaphernes.  Vainly  does  the 
latter  strive  to  perform  his  vow  to  Armida  in  her  ovm 
presence — her  flrst  flight  having  been  stayed  where  the 
serried  ranks  promised  her  safety.  She  sees  him  so 
evidently  getting  the  worst  in  his  single  combat  with 
Einaldo,  that  she  dares  not  even  await  its  end,  but  quits 
her  stately  chariot,  mounts  a  courser,  and  gallops  from 
the  field.  The  paynim  seems  in  her  to  lose  his  sun, 
yet  fights  hard  for  the  privilege  of  following  her.  On 
his  fall  Einaldo  looks  round  for  another  foe,  and  sees 
none  left  anywhere.  All  the  opposed  ranks  are  broken — 
aU  the  standards  fallen.     Then  he  bethinks  him  of  the 


182  TASSO. 

promise  which  still  binds  him  to  Armida,  and  the  scene 
takes  place  between  them  which  Tasso,  after  some  doubt, 
finally  retained  in  his  poem.  Einaldo  pursues  and  over- 
takes her,  preparing  to  kill  herself  in  a  lonely  wood ; 
where,  by  entreaties  and  soothing  words,  by  the  pro- 
mise to  place  her  on  the  throne  of  Damascus, — yea,  if 
she  will  but  become  a  Christian,  to  exalt  her  to  the 
highest  of  Eastern  crowns, — he  wins  her  back  to  life 
and  love. 

136. 
"  Thus  plaineth  he,  thus  prays,  and  his  desire 

Endears  with  sighs  that  fly,  and  tears  that  fall ; 
That  as  against  the  warmth  of  Titan's  fire 

Snowdrifts  consume  on  tops  of  mountains  tall, 
So  melts  her  wrath,  but  love  remains  entire  : 

*  Behold,'  she  says,  *  thine  handmaid  and  thy  thrall.' " 

-(F.) 

Meantime  Godfrey  has  slain  first  Emireno's  standard- 
bearer  and  then  himself,  has  courteously  received  the 
brave  Altamore's  surrender,  and  has  captured  the  Egyp- 
tian camp.  The  well -fought  day  is  succeeded  by  a 
happy  evening. 

144. 
"  Thus  conquered  Godfrey  ;  and  as  yet  the  sun 
Dived  not  in  silver  waves  his  golden  wain, 
But  daylight  served  him  to  the  fortress  won   . 

With  his  victorious  host  to  turn  again. 
His  bloody  coat  he  put  not  off,  but  run 

To  the  high  temple  with  his  noble  train  ; 
And  there  hung  up  his  arms,  and  there  he  bows 
His  knees,  there  prayed,^  and  there  performs  his  vows." 

— (F.)     Canto  ?;  >-  - 

^  Fairfax  here  omits  the  ''  devoutly  adored  the  Great  Sepulclire  "  of 
his  original. 


GODFREY    AT    THE    HOLY    SEPULCHRE.  183 

And  so  Tasso's  great  poem  closes, — its  last  lines  pre- 
senting to  us  the  picture  of  the  good  knight  who  refused 
afterwards  to  wear  a  crown  of  gold  where  his  Savioiu' 
wore  the  crown  of  thorns,  kneeling  with  all  his  chivalry 
behind  him  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
rescued,  as  they  fondly  trusted,  for  ever  by  their  swords 
from  the  grasp  of  the  i\Ioslem  oppressor. 


184 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

TASSO'S  LATER  POEMS  :  "  TORRISMONDO  " —  "  SEVEN  DAYS 
OP  CREATION  " "  JERUSALEM  CONQUERED." 

Tasso  began,  as  we  have  seen,  his  "  Torrismonclo "  at 
the  Court  of  Ferrara,  and  finished  it  at  that  of  jVIantua, 
— his  seven  years'  imprisonment  intervening  between  its 
conception  and  execution. 

The  story  is  eminently  tragic ;  since  its  hero,  over- 
whelmed with  shame,  when  the  play  opens,  at  having 
been  led  by  his  passion  for  Alvida  to  betray  the  trust 
reposed  in  him  by  his  friend  Germondo,  makes  the 
horrible  discovery,  before  its  close,  that  the  bride  whom 
he  hopes  to  induce  the  King  of  Sweden  to  resign  to  him 
is,  in  truth,  his  own  sister;  and  that  thus  the  wrong  which 
he  has  done  her  can  never  be  atoned  for,  and  is,  in  fact, 
a  crime  of  the  deepest  dye.  We  have  here  a  situation 
dark  and  terrible,  like  that  of  the  "  CEdipus  Tyrannus." 
To  what  extent  Tasso  might  have  succeeded  in  turninsc 
it  to  good  account  under  hapj)ier  circumstances,  can  only 
be  conjectured.  As  it  is,  the  promise  of  the  commence- 
ment is  far  from  being  fulfilled  as  the  tragedy  goes  on. 
Tasso  found  no  colours  with  which  to  discriminate 
between  the  self-reproach,  not  unrelieved  by  hope,  of 


TORRISMONDO.  185 

his  hero's  state  at  the  beginnmg,  and  the  horror  of  deep 
darkness  which  should  have  enfolded  him  at  its  close. 
We  mark  the  passage  of  the  (Edipus  of  Sophocles,  from 
proud  secmity  to  desperate  anguish,  with  awe  and  pity. 
Tasso's  picture,  on  the  contrary,  is  gloomy  throughout ; 
and  the  fatal  discovery  produces  very  insufficient  effect. 
Alvida  kills  herself, — not,  like  Jocasta,  overwhelmed  by 
its  horror,  since  she  gives  it  no  credence,  but  simply 
because  she  thinks  herself  betrayed  by  Torrismondo  3  who, 
in  his  turn,  dies  rather  than  survive  her.  The  feeling 
which  makes  the  Theban  prince,  when  his  real  position 
is  disclosed  to  him,  resolve  to  behold  the  sun  no  more, 
is  not  that  which  hurries  the  ]N"orwegian  to  the  tomb. 
And  though  the  Chamberlain's  account  of  the  hapless 
couple's  death  is  pathetic,  the  reader  of  his  sad  tale  is 
not  moved  by  it  as  he  is  by  the  misfortunes  of  more 
life-like  and  consistent  personages. 

The  chorus  with  which  the  play  ends  is  a  wail  over 
Tasso's  own  blighted  hopes,  and  stands  in  touching  con- 
trast with  the  more  cheerful  strains  of  his  "  Aminta." 
Torrismondo's  mother  has  been  borne  away,  dying  with 
grief  for  her  children's  death ;  King  Germondo,  bereft 
of  his  royal  friend  and  promised  bride,  has  exclaimed — 

"  Alas  !  my  life,  not  life,  vapour,  or  shade, 
Or  image  of  true  life  ;  nay,  rather  death," 

when  the  Chorus  respond  to  his  lamentation  with  this 

doleful  chant  : — 

Chorus. 

"  Ah,  tears  !  ah,  hopeless  woe  ! 
Life  passes,  flows  away  ;  yea,  flies 
Like  snow  that  melting  lies. 
All  summits  stoop,  to  earth  is  thrown 


186  TASSO. 

Each  strongest  tower  ; 

Each,  kingdom's  power 

Falls,  peace  destroying  what  through  war  had  grown. 

Like  sunlight  dimmed  by  winter,  so  burns  low 

Glory,  and  leaves  no  after  glow. 

Like  some  swift  stream  from  Alpine  height  descending, 

Like  flashing  light 

In  calm  still  night, 

Like  wind,  or  smoke,  or  arrow  swiftly  wending. 

So  flies  our  fame,  so  honours  here  below 

Wither  like  flowers  and  go. 

What  hope  we  here,  what  wait  for  any  more  ? 

Triumphs  and  palms  pass  by, 

Leaving  the  soul  sad  memory, 

Laments  and  tears  and  of  long  sorrows  store. 

What  then  can  Friendship,  what  can  Love  bestow  ? 

Ah,  tears  !  ah,  hopeless  woe  ! " 

"  The  Seven  Days  of  the  Creation "  is  a  descriptive 
and  didactic  poem,  in  the  nnusnal  form  in  Italian  of 
unrhymed  iambics.  It  is  a  -work  more  honourable  for 
the  most  part  to  Tasso's  intentions  than  successful 
in  its  ^performance  ;  for  its  descriptions  lack  the  luxu- 
riance of  his  earlier  days,  its  well-meant  admonitions  arc? 
somewhat  commonplace  and  prosaic,  and  its  verse  is 
too  often  like  prose  cut  into  equal  lengths.  Here  and 
there,  however,  its  writer's  genius  reasserts  itself.  Poetic 
imagination  reappears  in  passages  such  as  that  which  de- 
picts the  sudden  green  spreading  over  the  dry  brown 
earth  on  the  Third  Day. 

"  Like  woman,  sick  and  grieving  hitherto. 
Her  mantle  black  and  mourning  veil  cast  ofl", 
By  rich  robe  decked  and  jewels  all  of  gold 
Beyond  all  M^ont  with  artful  loveliness, 
Even  so  the  earth  which,  with  a  look  of  woe, 


SEVEN  DAYS  OF  THE  CREATION.      187 

Sadly  in  squalid  semblance  had  been  seen, 
Of  herbs,  of  flowers,  of  new  glad  leafy  trees 
Made  a  rich  verdurous  vesture  for  her  limbs 
Grown  beautiful  to  sight  ;  and  straightway  woAe 
For  her  long  tresses  wreaths  of  varied  hue." 

There  is  a  little  of  Milton's  "  magic  of  names  "  in  places 
like  this,  in  which  the  author,  speaking  of  lakes,  apostro- 
phises his  own  country,  viz.  : — 

"  Who  can  forget  thy  Thrasymene  ?  or  that 
Which  in  its  sweet  breast  Manto's  city  holds. 
Or  Larius  vast  of  size,  Benacus  great, 
Like  to  the  sea  in  prideful  mighty  waves, 
Or  others,  whence  men  call  thee  yet  the  glad  ? " 

Lines  like  the  following  on  the  Fourth  Day, — the  Crea- 
tion of  the  Sun, — although  not  otherwise  than  good,  are 
chiefly  recommended  by  their  piety  and  excellent  purpose. 
They  are  given  here  as  one  specimen  out  of  many : — 

"  If  beauteous  thus    .   .    . 
The  sun,   .    .    .   which  on  our  world  so  brightly  shines. 
Like  to  an  eye  to  light  it  and  adorn. 
If  never  can  its  sight  serene  and  clear 
Depart  and  leave  us  fully  satisfied, 
Though  him  one  day  a  tardy  death  awaits, 
What  ageless,  timeless  beauty  shall  the  saints 
Behold  in  the  great  Sun  of  Righteousness  1 
If  to  the  blind  even  not  to  see  our  sun 
Is  pain,  what  the  ungrateful  sinner's  pain, 
Deprived  of  the  One,  true,  eternal  Light  1 " 

But  there  is  more  poetry  in  the  following  lines  on  the 
angels,  from  which  Milton  may  have  learned  some- 
thing : — 

"  These  glorious  and  divine  intelligences 
Were  by  our  God  created  the  first  day, 


188  TASSO. 

Before  the  sun  and  the  fair  starry  spheres  ; 
And  then  by  Him  on  the  fourth  day  divided 
Each  to  his  proper  place  :  as  general 
Well-skilled  his  faithful  warriors  in  their  ranks 
And  troops  disposes,  setting  them  to  guard 
Strong  city  on  high  rock  and  lofty  tower. 
Some  the  bright  wheels  above  to  turn  were  sent ; 

Some,  as  the  great  King's  flying  messengers, 

To  manifest  His  will  on  earth  to  men. 

Bearing  both  down  and  up,  now  grace,  now  prayers  ; 

The  grace  divine  for  ever  swift  and  prompt, 

The  prayers  of  men  too  oft  both  late  and  slow." 

And  there  is   at  any  rate  ingenious   piety  in   Tasso's 
words  about  eclipses  : — 

"  No  mortal  light  shines  in  this  lower  world, 
Or  splendour  of  great  fortune, — dazzling  eyes 
Erring  and  weak  of  the  base  herd, — the  which 
Is  never  troubled,  and  doth  never  fail. 
Lift,  then,  thy  mind  to  the  high  primal  Light, 
Holy,  divine,  the  Light  eterne  that  knows 
Nor  rise  nor  setting  in  His  place  on  high, — 
No,  nor  eclipse,  that  dwindles  not,  or  fades  : 
But  who  once,  vested  in  our  manhood,  made 
An  eclipse  with  Him  of  the  troubled  sun 
Unwonted ;  which  with  shame  and  wonder  saw 
Nature  in  tears  and  sad." 

The  poet's  farewell  to  the  earth  which  he  was  so  soon 
to  leave,  in  the  introduction  to  his  Fifth  Book,  has  a 
grave  and  pathetic  charm  : — ■ 

"  The  sojourner  long  time  in  foreign  land. 
Who  to  his  own  great  country  to  return 
Thinks,  after  fortunes  strange  and  exile  sad 
And  lustrums  spent  in  hard  and  weary  life, 
To  his  tried  hostelry  and  courteous  host 


THE    PHCENIX.  189 

Grateful  and  friendly  shows  him  ere  he  goes. 
Even  so  do  we,  who  long  to  make  return, 
Or  soon  or  late  to  heaven,  from  this  our  low 
Dim  cloister  of  the  earth  that  sea  surrounds, 
Whence  many  years  dear  nourishment  and  food 
We  have  received,  and  pleasant  lodging-place, 
Owe  last  good  offices,  and  words  and  gifts 
Of  piety  and  love, — in  thankfulness 
Memorial  raising,  fair  nor  soon  to  die, — 
To  this  our  kind  and  pitying  ancient  nurse, 
Which  clasped  our  childhood  and  our  age  sustains." 

Tasso's  description  of  the  fabulous  phoenix  has  been 
admired.  It  dwells,  according  to  him,  on  a  plain  at  the 
top  of  lofty  mountains  in  the  farthest  clime  of  "the 
odorous  and  lucent  East,"  near  the  golden  gates  of  the 
sun,  which  it  salutes  every  morning  at  its  rising  by  a 
sacred  song, — 

"  To  which,  not  e'en  in  part,  can  Cynthia's  voice 
Or  sweet  Parnassus'  harmony  be  likened. 
Nor  it  can  Hermes'  resonant  lyre  resemble, — 
No,  nor  the  notes  of  white  and  dying  swan." 

Where  that  sweet  song  is  heard,  "  pallid  diseases  never 
come," — 

"  Or  sick  Old  Age,  or  cruel  Death  ;  or  yet 
Evil  desires,  and  shameful  thirst  for  gold. 
Or  wicked  crimes,  or  haughty  Mars,  or  love 
Madly  pursuing  death.     Anger  and  grief. 
And  mourning,  stay  far  off,  and  Poverty 
Ill-clad,  with  wakeful  thoughts  and  thorny  cares 
And  straitened  want.     There  never  tempest  blows, 
Or  whirlwind,  its  strong  fury  ;  o'er  those  plains 
Dark  clouds  their  veil  of  blackness  never  stretch, 
Or  from  on  high  falls  the  impetuous  rain." 

"When  the  poet  has  finished  his  survey  of  the  animal 


190  TASSO. 

kingdom,  liis  transition  (in  the  Sixtli  Book)  to  the 
creation  of  man  is  marked  by  this  fine  image.  Weary 
of  his  long  course,  it  is,  as  he  says,  with  eagerness  that 
he  comes  at  last — 

"  "Where  amid  flowery  shades  of  spreading  trees, 
'Mid  thousand  beauties,  thousand  odours  sweet, 
Man  by  God  made  awaits  and  calls  for  me. 
Like  son,  who  on  a  day  of  feast  and  pomps 
Walks  through  a  crowded  city,  full  of  base 
Wandering  plebeians  ;  if  he  see  at  last 
High  o'er  the  rest  his  dear  sire's  reverend  face, 
Eesplendent  from  afar,  a  king  adorned 
With  crown  and  purple,  mighty ;  he  disdains 
The  motley  crowd  and  lowly  herd,  and  there 
Betakes  him  where  encouraging  invites 
Close  to  the  lofty  majesty  august 
His  father's  beckoning  hand  or  well-known  call : 
So  through  this  world  created  and  adorned, 
City  of  mortals  and  immortals  both, 
Great  and  sublime,  ...  1  moved  but  now,  desirous 
Of  marvels,  searching  each,  and  round  me  gazing; 
So  staying  for  a  while  my  tardy  course 
Amid  the  beasts,  its  baser  crowd.     But  now 
That  in  his  Paradise  our  ancient  sire. 
As  yet  unsevered  from  his  King  sublime, 
With  awful  brow  presents  him,  I,  all  else 
Quickly  forgetting,  turn  me  unto  him." 

Here  we  have  an  anticipation  of  Milton's  reverence 
for  our  first  father,  as  we  have  something  like  a 
prelude  to  his  sublimer  thanksgiving  strains,  in  the 
echo  of  the  Benedicite,  with  which  (mingled  with  the 
present  groans  and  yearnings  of  the  creation)  Tasso's 
poem  concludes.     God's  great  work  is  ended,  and, 

"  Then  not  alone  the  high  intelligences, 
The  Angels  and  the  Powers  celestial,  praised 


PRAYER  OF  THE  EARTH.  101 

The  Eternal  Father,  and  with  hymns  exalted ; 
Him  the  heavens  also  praised,  .  .  .  the  sun,  and  ye, 
Ye  shining  stars;  thou,  too,  white-gleaming  moon. 

The  hard  and  rocky  mounts,  the  verdant  hills 
Praised  him,  with  them  the  hollow-murmurmg  sea; 
The  founts  and  gently-flowing  streams  were  heard 
To  murmur  forth  His  holy,  glorious  name. 

And  even  now  this  old  and  weary  world 

Says  to  Him  :  Lord,  eternal  Father,  who 
Of  nothing  didst  create  me,  and  adorn  ; 

Me  with  thy  right  Hand  dost  uphold  and  prop, 

So  that,  in  age  so  vast,  I  stiU  am  Hke 
Myself  in  my  first  childhood,  changing  not, 
Or  losing  what  then  decked  me  ;  not  one  yet 
Of  all  my  bright  and  golden  ornaments 
Failing  me  ;  .  .  .  thee  I  sigh  for,  thee  I  call, 
I  who  without  thee  nothing  am.  ...  To  thee 
I  fly  afresh  from  mine  own  self,  and  pray 
To  join  me  to  thyself  in  love  uplifting. 
Love  of  thee  melts  me,  loving  thee  I  languish. 
And  when  another  fire  consumes  and  melts, 
Then  may  thy  Love  remake  me,  otherwise, 
Brighter  than  now;  and  take  all  weariness 
And  motion  from  my  sick  and  languid  frame. 
So  may  find  rest  at  last  the  old  tired  world, 
Gone  forth  from  time  to  thine  eternity, 
No  more  thy  swiftly  rolling  temple  ;  found 
At  length  thy  glory's  ever  firm  abode. 
Thus  speaks  the  world.     Deaf  truly  is  that  soul 
That  cannot  hear  its  voice  and  plaintive  chant, 
Nor  join  it  in  its  weeping  and  its  prayers." 


192  TASSO. 

The  changes  by  which  Tasso's  "  Jerusalem  Conquered  " 
is  distinguished  from  its  greater  predecessor  have  been 
already  described,  as  well  as  his  final  dissatisfaction  with 
both  poems.  One  or  two  specimens,  however,  of  his 
later  work  may  be  fitly  inserted  here. 

Its  twentieth  canto  is  much  admired  by  some  Italian 
critics.  In  it  Godfrey  has  a  vision,  first  of  the  for- 
tunes of  the  earthly  Jerusalem,  beginning  with  David 
and  Solomon,  and  ending  with  its  destruction  by  the 
Romans ;  and  then  afterwards  of  the  celestial  city  of 
the  Apocalypse,  descending  from  above  "  like  a  bride 
adorned  for  her  husband."  Finally,  he  is  caught  up,  as 
he  dreams,  into  heaven  itself,  where  he  beholds  the 
divine  glory,  and  hears  the  angels'  song  of  praise  to 
the  Everlasting  Son. 

60. 

"In  hundred  sounds  diverse,  by  hundred  names. 
The  King  who  rules  the  stars  is  there  adored : 

Angelic  song  these  holy  words  proclaims 

In  resonant  music  through  heaven's  palace  poured : 

'  0  Fair  and  One  ;  true  Light  whence  pure  light  flames, 
Our  sun,  our  morning-star  we  own  Thee,  Lord  ; 

Thou  fire,  thy  kindling  warmth  to  spirits  lending, 

Thou  holy  Love  to  us  by  us  descending. 

6L 

Of  ages  Thou  art  King  ;  the  Ancient  Thou 
And  Latest ;  the  Beginning  and  the  End  ; 

The  just,  yea  justice'  self  to  which  we  bow. 

Power,  mind,  and  reason  whence  God's  works  descend ; 

'Twixt  God  and  sinners  Mediator  now. 

From  hell  its  spoil  and  captives  Thou  dost  rend ; 

Life  that  dost  swallow  death  in  victory ; 

True  health  by  wliom  to  God  our  spirits  flee. 


SOLYMAN    AMONG    THE    TOMBS.  193 

62. 
The  truth,  the  way,  Thou  temple  art  and  door, 

Priest,  Lamb,  and  brazen  serpent ;  lion  strong, 
Shepherd,  physician  pitying,  who  didst  pour 

Thy  blood  for  us,  enduring  cruel  wrong ; 
Exemplar,  Image,  both  for  evermore ; 

Healer  of  sickness,  peace  of  warrior-throng ; 
Once  worm,  now  river,  fount,  foundation-stone, 
Bud,  flower,  true  vine  by  fruitful  grapes  made  known. 

63. 

The  same  yet  other;  now  within  Thine  hand 

Grasping  the  world,  now  held  in  one  small  licai  t ; 

Like  and  unlike,  now  loosing  from  his  band, 
Now  binding,  Satan ;  'neath  the  earth'  Thou  art. 

Then  high  in  heaven  triumj)hant  dost  Thou  stand. 
Making  eternal  Thy  once  mortal  part ; 

Rewarding  works,  giver  of  holy  laws, 

High  King,  great  God,  of  all  things  guide  and  cause.' " 

^_(.J.  c.)     Canto  XX. 

Another  of  Tasso's  later  insertions  has  met  with 
praise — namely,  the  stanzas  in  which  he  depicts  Sultan 
Solyman  sadly  wandering  after  his  defeat  amid  the 
tombs  of  the  Kings  of  Judah,  with  their  suggestion  of 
the  contrast  between  the  peaceful  rest  of  the  dead  and 
the  tumultuous  passions  of  the  living.  They  are  as 
follows  : — 

5. 
"  He  left  the  royal  road  of  paven  stone, 
By  the  wise  son  of  godly  David  made, 
To  westward  leading,  and  that  other  one 

That  northward  tends, — of  greater  risk  afraid  ; 
From  bows  and  quivers,  paths  whose  red  makes  known 

Man's  blood  shed,  toward  the  south  his  footsteps  strayed, 
Till,  like  a  wanderer,  roaming  far  and  fast. 
In  the  king's  vale  his  course  he  stayed  at  last. 

F.C. XVI.  N 


194  TASSO. 

6. 

There  he-belield  that  ruined  monument 

On  which  the  ancient  pillar  stood  erewhile, — 
Statue  of  son  through  beauty  insolent. 


By  steep  tracks  climbing  round  from  vale  to  vale, 
Willing  to  hide  him  from  the  foeman's  eye, 

Soon  sees  he  graven  marbles  tell  their  tale 

Ruined  and  scattered,  once  three  columns  high. 

At  this  fresh  sepulchre  sad  thoughts  assail, 
And  bid  him  o'er  his  evil  fortune  sigh. 

At  sight  of  lofty  work  low  ruin  made, 

AVhere,  with  her  son,  a  queen  in  death  was  laid 

8. 
'  From  tomb  to  tomb  thus  guideth  me  my  fate 

(Said  to  himself  the  king  in  thought  distressed), 
'  And  aid  or  comfort  amid  fortune's  hate 

And  cruel  blows,  none  bringeth  to  my  breast ; 
But  whether  lofty  pile  be  raised  in  state 

O'er  me,  or  hid  'neath  stones  and  briers  I  rest, 
Buried  like  common  kind,  or  like  a  king, 
My  sepulchre's  downfall  is  trifling  thing.' 

9. 
As  thus  lie  spake,  around,  with  searching  gaze. 

His  glance  that  valley's  lonesome  horrors  tried  : 
No  herdsmen  there,  no  shepherds,  shunned  the  rays 

Of  the  fierce  sun,  and  came  in  shades  to  hide  ; 
The  rosemary  and  other  flowers  their  sprays 

To  deck  those  ruins  raised  in  blooming  pride  ; 
By  the  green  cyjDress  there  the  palm-tree  towered 
That  loftier  rises  when  by  load  o'erpowered." — (J.  C.) 

—Canto  XL 

These  extracts,  and  others  like  them,  for  which  tliere  is 
h(^re  no  room,  have  chiefly  a  melancholy  interest.    Tasso, 


THE    OLIVETANS    SERMON.  195 

like  Solyman,  Avas  wandering  among  tombs  whvu  lie 
wrote  them,  and  beguiling  his  sadness  by  flowers  which, 
as  those  of  which  he  here  sings,  bloom  amid  our  graves 
— even  those  Scripture  texts  which  his  later  years  found 
their  delight  in  paraphrasing. 

He  has  versified  his  own  experience,  and  the  reflec- 
tions Avhicli  led  him  to  turn  aAvay  from  mere  secular 
themes,  in  his  "  Origin  of  the  Congregation  of  jMount 
Olivet."  A  brief  extract  from  its  pious  founder's  dis- 
course may  fitly  conclude  these  specimens  of  Tasso's 
later  muse  : — 

"  What  seems  most  beautiful  is  vanity, 

And  all  things  that  sense  please  and  most  delight  ; 
Vain  is  the  course,  the  goal  that  speedily 

The  horses  .whirl  round,  vain  their  rapid  flight  ; 
Vain,  too,  the  theatre  where  night  we  see 

Turned  into  day  by  torches  burning  bright ; 
Vain  every  joust  and  pompous  show  ;  and  vain 
Splendour  of  -jrms  and  triumphs  that  they  gain. 

The  shadow  let  us  leave  who  seek  the  sun  ; 
Forsake  the  mist,  and  the  true  light  pursue ; 

Hence  let  us  fly,  for  soon  our  days  are  done  ; 

The  shadow  of  this  world  is  passing  too, — 
"Who  passes  with  it  has  too  late  begun 

His  flight ;  delays  both  shame  him  and  undo. 
Our  deeds  and  boasts  with  time  pass  swift  away, — 
Stay  thee  on  Christ ;  make  Him,  the  Truth,  thy  stay." 


196 


CHAPTEE    XVIIL 

TASSO'S      PROSE      WRITINGS. 

Tasso's  prose  has  been  preferred  to  liis  poetry  by  some 
Italian  critics,  who  rank  him  with  Dante  and  Avith 
Milton  for  the  immensity  of  erudition  and  the  nobilit}' 
of  thought,  which  they  consider  it  to  display.  The 
Avorks  which  have  won  for  him  this  encomium  comprise 
his  discourses,  orations,  letters,  and  dialogues.  Of  the 
first-named,  his  Treatises  on  Heroic  Poetry  have  an 
especial  interest,  as  exhibiting  the  theory  Avhich  is 
exempliiied  by  the  "  Jerusalem  Delivered."  His  "  Ee- 
ply  of  Eome  to  Plutarch,"  a  discourse  on  the  true 
causes  of  the  Eoman  empire's  greatness,  has  been 
styled  the  best  oration  in  Italian ;  while  his  letters 
— highly  prized  and  diligently  collected  by  his  con- 
temporaries— were  praised  by  them  as  only  second  to 
those  of  Cicero.  They  contain  many  wise  sayings, 
the  effect  of  which  a  pedantic  display  of  learning 
occasionally  impairs,  however;  and  their  pathos  is 
frequently  very  genuine.  "  They  give  us,"  says  For- 
naciari,  "  a  faithful  portrait  of  their  author's  mind  and 
life,  ...  of  his  thoughtful  and  melancholy  dis- 
position ;  Avhile  they  are  admirable  for  their  simplicity 


UOllXL  ■  EEFLECTIOX  S.  197 

and  dignity."  Xevertlieless,  taken  as  a  whole,  they  are 
somewhat  tedious  reading,  for  their  writer  liad  little 
sense  of  humour ;  and  the  gaiety,  the  lively  sallies  of 
wit,  Avhich  are  what  make  the  best  letters  so  charming, 
are  wholly  wanting  to  Tasso's  serious  and  sorrowful  cor- 
respondence. He  writes  best  when  he  discusses  literary 
subjects,  when  he  eloquently  declaims  on  his  own 
Avrongs,  or  when  he  moralises  in  solemn  weighty  sen- 
tences.    Here  are  a  few  specimens  of  these  last :  — 

"  Happiness  belongs  to  virtue,  prosperity  to  fortune." 
"  Golden  are  those  who,  being  born  philosophers,  will 
only  be  content  Avith  truth  exactly  considered;  silver 
are  those  Avho,  politicians  by  nature,  are  content  with 
opinion  and  probability."  "  Justice,  in  the  world  pro- 
vidence, in  a  city  peace  and  equity,  is,  in  the  mind, 
wisdom."  "  Let  princes  reflect  that  the  world  was  built 
by  mercy,  and,  in  like  manner,  is  by  mercy  preserved ; 
and  then  they  will  imitate  the  Architect  of  this  mar- 
vellous work — God."  "Well  said  Lucretius  that  the 
one  hands  on  the  lamp  of  life  to  the  other,  after  the 
fashion  of  what  is  done  nowadays  in  our  torch-dance ; 
in  which  man  receives  it  from  woman,  in  Avhose  hands 
life  and  death  seem  placed."  "  This  hfe  is  like  a  fair 
Avhich  collects  a  vast  crowd  of  merchants,  thieves,  and 
gamesters ;  Avhoever  leaves  it  first  is  best  off :  he  who 
delays  longest  gets  weary,  and,  growing  old,  comes 
miserably  to  feel  the  want  of  many  things."  "  We  all 
go  the  same  road  either  with  dry  or  tearful  eyes."  "  If 
true  happiness  consists  in  knowledge,  and  if  perfect 
knowledge  can  only  be  acquired  after  death,  felicity 
appears  to  be  reserved  for  death,  or  after  death.  Why 
are  we  made  proud  and  puffed  up  by  the  wisdom  of  this 


198  TASSO. 

life  which  is  so  similar  to  darkness,  when  in  that  other 
— the  true  life,  though  called  by  mortals  death — our 
wisdom  will  resemble  the  purest  light  1" 

Tasso's  Dialogues  have  been  variously  estimated. 
Monti  calls  them  "  fountams  of  eloquence  and  of 
magnificent  and  most  choice  language."  Foscolo  says 
that  they  are  "  at  once  florid  and  majestic,  clear  in 
style,  pure  in  diction,  new  and  profound  in  thought, 
and  strictly  logical  in  their  method  of  reasoning."  It 
does  not  become  an  English  writer  to  dispute  the  verdict 
of  Italian  critics  on  Tasso's  style,  which  is,  besides,  un- 
doubtedly a  fine  one ;  but  it  is  allowable  to  say  that  his 
logic  partakes  a  good  deal  of  the  verbal  quibbling  by 
which  Plato  represents  Socrates  as  puzzlmg  his  hearers, 
and  that  the  reader  of  his  Dialogues  will  not  so  much 
be  pleased  in  them  by  new  thought  as  by  old  ones  well 
expressed  and  skilfully  arranged.  In  this  primary  point 
Tasso's  conversations  are  far  more  like  Cicero's  than  like 
Plato's ;  as  they  are  likewise  in  their  tendency  to  mono- 
logue whenever  they  discuss  grave  (|uestions,  and  iri 
their  lack  of  the  dramatic  power  and  disjilay  of  indi- 
vidual character,  which  give  such  a  lasting  charm  to 
their  Greek  models.  And  of  such  resemblance  to  these 
as  is  in  fact  attained  by  them,  Camerini  says,  in  a  some- 
what slighting  tone  :  "  The  exordiums  of  these  Dialogues 
at  times  have  a  look  of  Plato ;  but  as  the  discussion 
goes  on,  we  do  not  find  the  variety  and  ornament  which 
so  naturally  clothe  Plato's  great  conceptions.  The  skele- 
ton shapes  of  scholastic  philosophy  appear  through  the 
eloquent  dress ;  whereas  Plato's  words  are  translucent 
with  his  ideas  and  divine  exemplars."  But  if  the  Greek 
poet-philosopher  stands  forth  with  the  fresh  ardour  of 


WHAT    IS    SOLITUDE?  190 

the  world's  youth,  gazing  on  newly  discovered  regions, 
much  of  which  remains  for  him  to  explore,  while  his 
Latin  and  Italian  followers  chiefly  employ  themselves 
in  registering  and  examining  the  discoveries  of  others, 
it  is  nevertheless  true  that  their  dialogues  in  each  case 
mark  important  epochs  in  human  thought. 

Tasso,  who  died  when  Lord  Bacon  was  a  young  man, 
has  been  called  the  precursor  of  Descartes  in  his  Second 
Malpigiio, — "  a  dialogue  that  expresses  the  Avhole  life  of 
modern  thought  in  action."  ^  The  ISTeapolitan  Stranger, 
as  Tasso  calls  himself,  enters  his  young  friend's  richly 
provided  study.  "  Malpigiio. — Here  alone  can  I  escape 
the  multitude.  X.  S. — Say  rather  that  here  you  escape 
solitude,  since  you  dwell  with  orators,  historians,  poets, 
and  philosophers.  M. — They  form  a  most  noble  multi- 
tude, and  you  are  one  of  them,  for  I  have  your  works 
here  with  the  others ;  so  that  I  am  often  with  you  when 
you  least  think  it.  X.  S. — You  are  then  like  that 
Eoman  who  was  never  less  alone  than  when  he  was  by 
himself.  M. — He  was  accompanied  by  his  thoughts ; 
but  I  do  not  think  one  like  his  can  enter  here."  "  What ! 
not  poetic  thoughts  and  imaginations,  when,  for  instance, 
you  are  reading  Petrarch  ? "  is  the  substance  of  Tasso's 
rejoinder.  "  ]M. — These  are  pleasant  thoughts ;  Scipio's 
Avere  serious."  Then  Tasso  goes  on  to  ask  whether,  if  he 
cannot  fly  the  multitude  of  affections  and  passions  which 
the  poets  nourish  within  us,  he  finds  he  can  escape  that 
of  diverse  opinions  1  "  Xo,"  says  the  youth  ;  "  Petrarch 
makes  me  hold  difi^erent  opinions  on  the  same  subject. 
Xor  do  I  entertain  various  notions  only  on  death  and 
love,  according  to  the  variety  of  times  and  occasions, 

1  Cecchi. 


200  TASSO. 

but  oil  health  and  sickness  ;  on  adversity  and  prosperity; 
on  poverty  and  riches;  on  nobility  and  baseness;  on 
power  and  weakness ;  on  royal  and  private  life,  whether 
active  or  contemplative ;  and,  in  sum,  on  all  things  of 
which  poets,  orators,  and  historians  use  to  vary  in  tlieir 
speeches."  Tasso  suggests  the  haven  of  philosophy  as  a 
safe  retreat  from  such  perplexities. 

But  then  comes  the  question  which  of  many  promising 
harbours  they  shall  try.  There  is  that  ancient  jjort  which 
bears  Plato's  name,  fair  and  secure  to  the  eye,  but  Avhich 
tosses  the  vessels  that  seek  refuge  in  it  "by  the  02:)inions 
held  by  Pythagoras,  Gorgias,  Polus,  Hippias,  Prodicus, 
Thrasymachus,  Dionysiodorus,  and  others,  as  if  with 
tempestuous  winds :  neither  do  the  arguments  of  Par- 
menides,  Zeno,  and  Thales  suffer  it  to  enjoy  any  rest." 
Then,  too,  not  to  speak  of  the  differences  between  Socrates 
and  Plato  (or  rather,  as  we  know,  between  Plato's  earlier 
and  his  later  self),  there  are  the  disputes  of  the  old  and 
the  new  Platonists  on  "  the  nature  of  demons,  the  ideas 
of  numbers,  the  one  and  the  good,  the  passage  of  souls 
into  various  bodies,  and  their  return  to  the  father ;  on 
republics,  on  happiness,  on  the  virtues,  and  on  the 
sciences."  "M. — Why  should  \ve  not  take  refuge  in 
that  other  great  and  noble  harbour,  now  being  built,  of 
Concord?"  Tasso  thinks  it  as  yet  too  unfinished  for 
their  purpose  :  in  other  words,  the  reconciliation  of  the 
Platonic  with  the  Aristotelian  philosophy — a  dream  of 
his  day — is  as  yet  unefFected.  Shall  they,  then,  try  any 
of  the  ports  of  the  Peripatetics  1  Those  which  bear  the 
names  of  Aquinas  and  Scotus  Tasso  declines  with  real 
or  feigned  respect,  as  reserved  for  holier  barques  than 
theirs.     That  which  belongs  to  Aristotle  himself  is  per- 


DESPAIPw    OF    FINDING    TRUTH    BY    REASONING.      201 

turbed  at  its  iiioiitli  with  stormy  billows, — questions  hard 
to  solve  about  genera  and  species ;  and  so  Tasso  goes  on, 
conducting  his  friend  from  difficulty  to  difficulty,  and 
finding  nowhere  any  rest  among  the  tossing  waves. 

Tired  with  the  prolonged  and  unsuccessful  search, 
Tasso  gives  it  at  last  up,  and  proposes  to  land.  "  X.  S. — 
Here  let  us  fasten  our  mind's  weary  shallop,  and  rpiit  it 
for  this  beautiful  sea-shore,  near  that  sweet  fountain  over- 
shadowed by  an  olive  ;  which,  stretching  out  its  branches 
betwixt  a  laurel  and  a  palm  tree,  casts  with  them  its 
shade  over  a  venerable  cave,  wellnigh  overgrown  with 
ivy.  .  .  .  We  have  not  been  able  to  flee  from  a 
multitude  by  our  retreat  into  the  haven  of  philosophy ; 

for  there  too  we  have  found  numbers  and  con- 
trariety of  opinions.  ...  If  we  want  to  avoid 
them,  we  must  lay  aside  arguments,  and  ascend  to  the 
contemplation,  and,  as  it  were,  simple  sight  of  the  good, 

that  so,  mounting  up  to  pure  intellect,  we  may 
contemplate  the  intelligible  essence.  M. — I  am  not  fit 
for  such  lofty  contemplation,  but  yet  I  will  follow  my 
guide.  iST.  S. — To  follow  him  we  shall  perchance  have 
to  leave  behind  us  the  laurels,  the  fountains,  and  the 
swans,  with  thousands  of  other  trees  and  birds  which, 
painted  by  nature's  master -hand,  make  these  shores 
resound  with  their  sweet  harmony, — in  order  to  climb 
a  very  lofty  summit.  .  .  .  M. — Happy  he  who  is 
permitted  to  ascend  it.  ]^^.  S. — Truly  hajipy, — yea, 
most  happy ;  for  thrice  blest  is  it  to  understand  where 
to  understand  is  to  touch  :  up  there,  then,  with  our  own, 
we  shall  touch  the  divine  intellect.  .  .  .  And  yet, 
not  even  then  shall  we  have  fled  the  multitude  whereof 
we  were  speaking,  forasmuch  as  those  realms  are  full  of 


202  TASSO. 

an  intellectual  multitude ;  and  everything  in  the  intel- 
ligible world  is  double.  ...  So  then,  if  we  wish 
to  flee,  we  must  leave  all  human  thoughts  behind  us, 
and  take  the  flight  which  is  called  that  of  the  solitary  to 
the  solitary.  But  I,  impeded  by  the  world  and  by  my- 
self, know  not  whether  so  noble  a  flight  is  within  my 
power.  To  many,  indeed,  it  is  conceded,  and  none 
detains  them  from  escaj^ing,  as  it  were,  from  themselves ; 
but  when  they  have  fled  from  all  multitude,  if  they 
cannot  also  flee  all  solitude,  will  they  be  happy?" 

If  in  the  "  Malpiglio "  Tasso  thus  shows  himself  an 
eclectic,  dissatisfied  with  all  existing  philosophies,  he  is 
a  I^eo-Platonist  in  his  "  Messenger,"  in  which  a  "  cour- 
teous spirit "  unveils  to  him  the  nature  of  the  subordi- 
nate intelligences  and  of  the  j)lanetary  influences,  and 
in  wliich  he  tries  to  see  the  mode  of  action  of  spirit 
upon  matter.  He  is  Platonic  in  his  dialogue  on  "Art," 
and  in  his  latest,  on  "  Beauty,"  modelled  after  the  "  Hip- 
pias  Major;"  while  his  dialogue  on  "Virtue"  follows 
Plato's  "  Protagoras  "  in  many  things,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  aims  at  expoundiug  and  defining  the  "  Golden 
Mean  "  of  Aristotle. 

Tasso  approaches  Cicero  more  closely  in  such  dialogues 
as  the  one  on  "  Friendship,"  which  so  appropriately  bears 
IManso's  name,  or  that  on  "  Clemency,"  for  v»'hich  Serassi 
claims  the  credit  of  occupying  ground  too  slightly  tilled 
by  ancient  moralists  ;  while  Xenophon's  homelier  wisdom 
appears  in  the  dialogue  on  "  Good  Husbandry." 

The  dialofme  on  "Peace"  concludes  with  this  beauti- 
ful  and  touching  passage  :  "  Since  it " — namely,  peace 
securely  based  on  justice — "  cannot  be  discoursed  on  befit- 
tingly,  it  is  fitly  called  silence.     This  is  that  high,  that 


GOD    THE    EXExMrLAIl    OF    PEACE.  203 

profound,  that  sweet,  that  divine  silence  in  which  all  in- 
juries are  hidden  and  all  forgotten;  this  is  that  marvellous 
silence,  as  superior  to  every  harmony,  and  to  every  concert 
that  the  angels  make  when  they  praise  their  Creator,  as 
the  divine  darkness  is  more  luminous  than  the  sun,  the 
stars,  and  every  other  light  that  is  in  heaven.  .  .  .  Whoso 
then  looks  at  its  exemplar,  which  is  not  union,  but  unity 
without  multitude,  and  without  (distinction  of)  sub- 
stance, will  know  what  true  peace  is:  and  this  know- 
ledge or  science  will  be  so  mighty  that  the  elocj[uent 
will  never  lack  words  with  which  to  calm  all  the  anger 
and  passion  of  proud  hearts.  Xay,  even  I,  who  am  a 
stammerer  as  you  hear,  might,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
imloose  this  tongue  in  notes  so  lofty  and  so  sonorous 
that  all  Italy  should  hear  and  wonder:  nevertheless, 
I  shall  consider  myself  to  have  received  that  grace,  if 
only  I  am  able  in  the  oblivion  of  this  divine  silence  to 
drown  the  memory  of  all  the  offences,  preserving  that  of 
the  benefits,  which  I  have  received.'* 

In  a  lighter  style  are  "  The  Mask,"  in  which  the  poet, 
no  longer  a  partaker,  goes  forth  as  a  spectator,  of  the 
gaieties  of  Ferrara,  "Gaming,"  "Courtesy,"  and  some 
others  ;  notable  among  which  is  the  "  Dialogue  on  Love," 
which  commemorates  a  brief  holiday  from  prison,  procured 
for  Tasso  by  the  kindness  of  :\rarphisa  of  Este.  The  poet 
stands  silent  and  alxashed  before  her  and  her  beautiful 
companions,  until,  challenged  by  the  witty  Tarquinia 
iSIolza,  he  obbges  the  ladies  by  giving  them  a  new  defi- 
nition of  "  Love." 

It  is  the  same  learned  Lady  Tarcpiinia  of  whom  Tasso 
complains  (not,  perhaps,  quite  in  earnest)  in  his  "  Ghir- 
linzone."      The  friend  so  named  meets  him  returning 


204  TASSO. 

earlier  than  usual  from  her  house,  and  asks  the  reason. 
"  I  Avill  tell  you,"  says  Tasso  ;  "  I  had  made  an  oration  in 
praise  of  the  most  serene  Duchess  Barbara,  daughter  of 
the  Emperor  Ferdinand,  and  had  brought  it  to  her  on  a 
day  when  I  found  her  seated  between  Messeri  Francesco 
and  Camillo, — men  reputed  most  learned  in  the  belles 
lettres ;  and  she,  taking  it  in  her  hand,  so  soon  as  she 
began  to  read  it,  perceived  that  it  had  no  proemium,  on 
Avhicli  she  turned  to  Messer  Camillo  with  a  smile,  and 
said  to  him, — 'What  do  you  tliink  of  this  oration?' 
He  replied,  '  An  oration  without  an  exordium  is  like  a 
man  without  a  head.'  "  Tasso  goes  on  to  say  that  he  de- 
fended himself  by  the  authority  of  Aristotle,  but  in  A'ain. 
jMesser  Francesco  being  asked  his  opinion,  gave  it  likewise 
against  him ;  saying  that  a  proemium  occupies  that  place 
in  an  oration  which  a  jirelude  does  in  music.  Eowing  to 
their  collected  wisdom,  Tasso  says  that  he  went  home, 
wrote  the  required  proemium,  and  then  once  more  laid 
his  oration  before  his  fair  censor.  But  this  time  she  and 
her  assessors  took  a  fresh  objection.  It  was  written  in 
the  vulgar  tongue,  whereas  Latin  was  the  only  language 
befitting  such  a  noble  subject.  Tasso  tells  how  he 
defended  the  Italian,  maintaining  its  especial  propriety 
on  the  present  occasion,  as  the  adopted  speech  of  the 
j^rincess  whom  he  Avas  lamenting, ^ — "  so  that  the  tongue 
in  which  she,  the  daughter  and  sister  of  emperors, 
deigned  to  speak,  would  be  truly  ungrateful  if  it  suf- 
fered any  other  to  surjiass  it  in  her  praises.  INIoved  by 
these  words,  the  Lady  Tarquinia  took  the  oration  from 
my  hand,  but,  trying  to  read  it,  found  it  as  badly 
Avritten  as  my  compositions  generally  are ;  whereat,  full 
of  anger,  she  gave  it  back  to  me,  commanding  me  not 


A    FUNERAL    ORATIOX.  205 

to  return  to  lier  presence  till  I  brought  lier  tlie  oration 
better  copied  out  and  translated  into  the  Eoman  tongue." 
This  account  of  his  troubles  awakens  Ghirlinzone's 
curiosity  to  hear  the  oration  which  caused  them. 

It  begins  thus  :  "  Those  who  celebrate  the  living  are, 
if  I  err  not,  like  to  those  who  praise  actors  while  as  yet 
they  are  performing  their  parts  on  the  lighted  stage 
before  the  painted  scenery;  for  our  life  resembles  a 
comedy,  or  rather  a  tragedy,  full  of  various  chances  and 
changes  of  fortune,  which  now  uplifts  us  from  miser}' 
to  felicit}',  and  anon  with  contrary  movement  casts  us 
down :  now  while  the  minds  of  all  j^resent  are  fixed  in 
suspense  and  wonder,  nothing  seems  more  desirable  than 
silence  and  attention,  on  which  account  praises  then 
appear  ill-timed  and  importunate,  and  rather  the  dictates 
of  passion  than  of  judgment;  forasmuch  as  it  is  a 
beautiful  death  that  reflects  honour  on  the  whole  life, 
and  it  is  by  their  end  that  all  actions  are  approved. 
Very  fitly,  then,  whilst  the  most  serene  Duchess  Bar- 
bara yet  lived,  I  admired  her  greatness  and  wonderful 
virtues  in  silence ;  nor  did  I  wish  by  word  or  by  writ- 
ing to  break  the  silence,  or  perturb  the  reverence  of  the 
rest.  .  .  .  Eut  now  that  she  is  dead,  or  rather  has 
returned  to  heaven,  the  great  theatre  of  the  world  is 
resounding  with  tears,  comjilaints,  and  lamentations ;  so 
that  I  may  now  im230se  silence,  as  it  were,  by  sound  of 
trumpet,  and  claim  men's  attention."  Then  follows  a 
passionate  appeal  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  departed's 
adopted  country,  Italy,  as  well  as  of  her  native  Ger- 
many, to  praise,  mourn,  and  imitate  her  virtues.  The 
great  house  of  Austria,  from  which  she  sprang,  is  de- 
picted in  gloAving  colours,  with  its  sway  Avider  than  that 


206  TASSO. 

of  Alexander  or  of  Ciesar,  extending  ''with  double 
felicity  in  two  hemispheres,  where  its  princes  display 
the  cross  and  the  eagles  under  other  constellations,  other 
stars,  and  other  celestial  signs  than  were  ever  beheld  by 
the  ancients."  The  orator  goes  on  to  describe  how,  by 
their  beauty  and  goodness,  the  deceased  princess  and 
lier  sisters  brought  fresh  honour  to  their  family,  and 
blessings  on  the  country  to  whose  princes  they  were 
given  in  marriage.  The  wife  of  Alphonso  emulated  the 
fidelity  and  goodness  of  Stratonice  and  of  Cornelia,  the 
chastity  of  Lucretia  and  of  Tatia.  Loving  her  husband, 
and  by  him  beloved  again,  adorned  by  all  the  cardinal 
vu'tues,  she  was  finally  called  to  approve  her  unfalter- 
ing fortitude  in  the  long  and  painful  illness  which  bore 
her  to  the  grave.  Xor  is  such  fortitude  as  hers  less  to 
be  praised  than  is  the  courage  of  heroes,  seeing  that  it 
is  shown  in  no  smaller  perils  than  theirs.  For  theirs 
is  indeed  displaj'^ed  amid  tempest,  earthquake,  and 
slaughter;  but  this,  unaccompanied  by  weapons  and 
armies,  confronts  pain,  goes  to  meet  the  terrors  of  death, 
and  calmly  abides  the  last  departure.  Overcome  by  the 
sight  of  his  liege  lady's  last  "sorrowful  victory"  by 
dying,  the  orator  exclaims :  "0  brow,  once  serener  than 
the  sky,  now  overshadowed  by  death ;  eyes  once  full  of 
light,  but  now  of  darkness ;  .  .  .  whence  so  great  and 
so  sudden  a  change  1  0  Barbara,  niece,  daughter,  sister 
of  Caesars,  .  .  .  whither  art  thou  gone?  Where  now 
abidest  thou?  How  quickly  is  thy  beauty  turned  to 
ashes.  Is  this  the  succession  which  we  hoped  for  from 
thee?  Are  these  the  gifts  I  thought  to  offer  thee ?"  But 
these  plaints  are  hushed,  as  a  A^oice  tells  him  that  she 
whom  he  bewails  is  happy,  having  "  become  of  mortal 


THE    BLESSING    OF    A    TLAIELY    DEPARTURE.       207 

immortal,  of  earthly  heavenly,  of  human  divine.    Neither 
have  Styx,  Cocytus,  or  Acheron  received  her,  or  Lethe 
robbed  her  of  the  memory  of  things  dearest  to  her ;  nay, 
but  her  Lord  and  yours  has  welcomed  her  into  heaven, 
where  she  triumphs  with  her  father  and  with  her  im- 
perial ancestors  who  fought  here  below  for  the  Faith, 
where  is  shown  to  her  the  like  honour  as  to  Judith, 
Isabella,    ^Maria,    Matilda,    Beatrice,    Leonora,    and    so 
many  others  of  her  hneage  or  house.  .  .  .  There  is  no 
cause  for  our  feeling  any  excessive  desu^e  of  life;  nor 
ought  we  rather  to  measure  happiness  by  a  long  old  age, 
than  by  the  operations  of  a  perfect  virtue ;  so  that  we 
may  conclude  him  to  have  lived  long  enough  who  has 
spent  his  allotted  time  in  performing  the  noblest  actions, 
and  who  has  thereafter  departed  like  unto  a  poet  who 
lias  finished  his  epic  without  having  even  then  satiated 
his  audience.     Truly  therefore  blessed  is  she  who,  hav- 
ing enjoyed  all  that  life  has  which  is  desirable,  aban- 
doned it  afterwards  along  with  the  ills  and  pains  of 
sickness ;  and,  full  of  all  honours,  adorned  by  all  graces, 
nurtured  amid  sceptres  and  cro^\ais,  and  grown  up  amid 
triumphs  and  palms,  has  risen  from  an  earthly  lordship 
to  an  empire  in  the  heavens." 

There  is  no  space  in  a  small  book  like  the  present  for 
even  a  cursory  accoimt  of  many  of  Tasso's  Dialogues. 
Headers  curious  in  such  matters  may  consult  for  them- 
selves his  quaint  discussion  of  heraldic  devices,  his 
twice  rewritten  dialogue  on  "Pleasui-e,"  his  treatise  on 
"Courts," — a  subject  his  experimental  knowledge  of 
which  was  so  dearly  bought, — and  his  "Criticism  of 
Italian  Poetry  "  (styled  from  the  Ferrarese  poetess,  Caval- 
letta),   in  which  Tasso   considers  the  structure  of   the 


208  •  TASSO. 

sonnet,  and  with  sidelong  shafts  at  the  pedantry  of  his 
day,  gives  us  "a  lively  idea  of  the  sometimes  prolix 
and  tiresome,  at  other  times  gay  and  lively,  not  to  say 
sarcastic,  discussions,"  in  which  it  delighted. 

The  long  dialogue  on  "  N"obility,"  and  the  shorter  one 
on  "  Dignity,"  both  repay  perusal;  as  does  ^'  The  Idols," 
on  two  accounts, — as  marking  an  epoch  in  Tasso's  moral 
and  spiritual  progress,  and  as  containing  his  protest 
against  the  paganism  of  the  Eenaissance.  Its  opening 
conv-eys  to  us  Tasso's  aj^ology  for  not  having  saluted  the 
victor  of  Lepanto  with  a  triumj)hant  ode,  and  is  more 
poetic  than  were  doubtless  the  majority  of  those  which 
it  called  forth. 

He  is  in  a  garden  at  Eome,  with  his  kind  old  friend 
Cataneo,  and  a  younger  one  named  Yitelli.  "  C. — This 
fountain,  ...  by  the  murmur  of  its  waters,  may 
invite  your  muses  to  sing  under  the  shade  of  these  trees, 
which  have  just  put  on  their  new  leaves.  T. — Eather  lull 
them  to  sleep  by  the  sweetness  of  its  sound,  since  by  no 
sweeter  were  they  ever  before  rocked  to  slumber.  Y. — 
Deep  was  their  sleej:),  in  truth,  since  it  w^as  not  broken 
by  the  sound  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  clash  of 
arms,  with  the  soldiers'  shouts,  the  roar  of  the  winds  and 
of  the  waves  smitten  by  the  oars  and  cloven  by  the 
victorious  ships'  prows,  and  the  echo  of  the  artillery. 
T. — That  sound  was  so  great  that  it  was  even  heard  by 
those  who  dwell  beyond  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  and  the 
altars  of  Alexander  :  nor  is  there  fish  hidden  among  the 
most  secret  shoals  of  the  Adriatic  or  Tyrrhene  sea,  or 
bird  amid  the  tree  branches,  or  beast  in  the  caves,  or,  I 
had  almost  said,  corpse  in  the  sepulchre,  that  it  has  not 
awakened  :  and  if  I  might  exalt,  as  much  as  there  seems 


\ 


THE    VICTORY    OF    LEPAXTO.  209 

need,  the  greatness  of  that  action,  I  would  say  that  the 
souls  of  the  Greek  emperors,  and  of  those  other  glorious 
men  who  exposed  their  lives  to  deliver  Greece,  have  been 
stirred  as  if  by  an  angelic  trump,  and  expect  both  the 
end  of  so  wrongful  and  wretched  an  enslavement,  and  to 
see  the  eagles  return  to  those  ancient  nests  whence  they 
first  spread  their  wings,  and  cover  once  more  with  the 
shadow  of  their  pinions,  not  Constantinople  alone,  but 
either  empire  and  either  hemisphere.     I  myself  am  even 
yet  stupefied  by  that  excess  of  sound,  just  as  are  the 
inhabitants  of  Egypt,  where  the  Xile  falls  from  its  high 
precipice ;  and  if  this  comparison  is  a  too  small  one,  I 
must  rise  above  the  earth  to  find  a  suitable  similitude. 
The  harmony  made  by  the  celestial  bodies  as  they  move, 
fills  not  the  senses  otherwise  than  does  that  made  by  so 
much  verse  and  prose  in  so  many  languages ;  in  so  many 
styles,  and  with  such  felicity  of  the  praised  and  of  the 
praisers ;  with  so  much  glory  alike  of  the  celebrated  and 
the  celebrators.     Y. — You,  then,  alone,  appeared  mute 
amidst  the  harmony  of  the  world.     T. — :\Iute,  no  ;  for 
I  was  among  the  first  to  pray  to  God  for  the  victory  of 
the  Christians,  nor  yet  was  I  among  the  last  to  thank 
Hun  for  it;  but  I  hesitated  to  write  His  thanks  and 
praises.      Y. — Your  voice,  then,  was  dispersed  by  the 
winds.     T. — That  is  not  dispersed  which  is  not  lost,  nor 
are  those  words  lost  which  bear  our  prayers  to  God ;  but 
I  feared  lest  papers  might  be  like  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
vrhich  retain  the  foot-marks  printed  on  them  for  but  a 
little  while  ;  or  that  I  should  write  on  leaves  like  those 
of  the  Sibyl :  because  uTitings  have  no  stability  which 
are  not  founded  on  their  writers'  knowledge,  and  even 
the  others  fly  like  feathers  before  the  breeze  of  popular 

F.C. XVI.  o 


210  TASSO. 

favour,  and  the  grace  of  princes,  which  passes  like  the 
flowers  of  spring." 

Many  more  examples  of  Tasso's  success  as  a  prose- 
poet,  as  well  as  of  his  excellence  in  the  kind  of  eloquence 
which  his  own  day  most  admired,  might  easily  he  given. 
Failing  space  will  admit  hut  two  here,  from  the  dialogue 
on  "Beauty;"  having  tracked  wliich  from  point  to  point, 
and  discovered  it  to  reside  in  the  angelic  mind  and  in  the 
purified  human  soul,  Tasso  goes  on  to  say  :  "  And  albeit 
I  deny  not  that  it  is  something  inexpressibly  eternal  and 
divine,  I  jet  know  not  what  it  is,  because  if  it  could  be 
defined  it  might  have  some  limit ;  but  the  beauty  of  the 
soul,  peradventure,  does  not  endure  being  described  or 
circumscribed  by  j)lace,  time,  matter,  or  words ;  and  to 
search  into  it  farther  is,  perchance,  boldness  and  pre- 
sumption, or  a  too  courageous  faith,  like  that  of  those 
who,  passing  within  the  veil  of  the  temjole,  enter  the 
Holy  of  Holies.  There  is  it  known,  there  contemplated, 
there  only  can  what  it  is  be  understood  ;  but  we  who  are 
outside  the  veil  keep  admiring  the  columns  and  the 
beams  of  cedar  and  of  odoriferous  cypress  -  wood,  the 
arches,  the  roof,  the  laver,  and  the  images  by  which  it  is 
supported,  callmg  that  beautiful  which  so  apj^ears  to  us." 
This  incomprehensible  beauty  of  the  soul  can  neverthe- 
less be  chiselled  and  polished  by  its  possessor,  as  the 
sculptor  does  a  statue,  until  "  there  shiaes  forth  a  divine 
light  of  virtue,  in  which  is  seen  temperance  sitting 
in  majesty."  "  Marvellous  sculptors  are  they,"  is  the 
rejoinder,  "  who,  upon  the  columns  of  theu'  own  nobility, 
have  polished  the  statues  of  eternal  beauty."  "It  is 
further  said,"  adds  the  first  speaker,  "  that  the  soul  does 
not  make  itself  beautiful  by  the  acquisition  of  any  ex- 


TRUE  BEAUTY  IS  OF  THE  SOUL.      211 

ternal  thing,  but  by  purging  itself  as  fire  does  in  its 
flame ;  for  human  vii^tues,  which  appear  so  beautiful,  are 
nothing  but  the  purgation  of  the  impurity  that  they  have 
contracted  through  the  company  of  the  body.  Virtues 
are  therefore  natural  to  the  soul,  and  beauty  is  native  to 
it ;  but  ugliness  is  a  stranger  to  it,  and  derived  from  the 
contagion  of  the  body.  Foolish,  then,  without  question, 
is  the  judgment  of  those  who  seek  for  beauty  in  these 
eartlily  limbs  of  ours;  and  to  me  they  seem  like  unto 
those  who  look  at  images  and  shadows  in  the  waters,  as 
is  fabled  concerning  Xarcissus,  and  who,  while  they 
embrace  the  waves  and  flying  wraiths,  fall  in  and  are 
drowned,  without  perceiving  their  peril.  Wherefore 
the  cry  might  well  go  forth  to  us :  Friends,  let  us  fly 
these  fountains  and  these  deceitful  waters,  and  go  back 
instead  to  our  own  dear  country." 


END    OF    TASSO. 


PRINTED   BY   WILLIAM   BLACKWOOD   AND   SONS. 


Ipbilosopbical  Classics 


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